


Once Bitten

by minkscantsew



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Eventual Sterek, Frottage, Masturbation, Mild Gore, Multi, Pack Dynamics, Post Kanima, Pre Alpha Pack, Rimming, The Hale Pack - Freeform, Underage Sex, Werefox Stiles, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:17:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 183,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minkscantsew/pseuds/minkscantsew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets bitten by a werefox that's running loose on Hale lands.</p><p>The pack helps him deal with his new were status while searching for the fox who bit him in hopes of reversing the bite. </p><p>But is the werefox really their biggest problem?</p><p>(I'm terrible at summaries and this now looks like a crappy harlequin novel. I don't even care.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Tell me again how we ended up out here,” Stiles whined into the surprisingly cool night air. Even though he couldn't see Scott through the trees ahead of him, he could practically hear his best friend rolling his eyes. As someone who had once dragged Scott out of bed in the middle of the night to look for half of a dead body, Stiles was suspiciously uninterested in their current predicament. Stiles opened his mouth to complain again, but was cut off by Scott's sigh as he pulled him further along the trail.

“I told you," he began, already bored with the conversation, "Derek said there was a rogue werewolf somewhere in the preserve, but he’s hiding his tracks somehow." Stiles huffed out in annoyance at the simplistic answer. He thought Scott had finally learned that he needed more information when it came to the werewolf stuff. Scott continued just as Stiles began to grumble again. "Besides it’s not like we’re the only ones out here looking for it. Everyone is. Even Peter.”

Stiles groaned at the mention of the pack’s resident undead psychopath. Something about the guy just bugged him. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he had a feeling it had something to do with the fact that the dude killed a bunch of people a while ago and then used Lydia to COME BACK FROM THE DEAD. Even in a world full of werewolves, there was nothing natural about Peter Hale. Fortunately the resident supernatural community of Beacon Hills were in agreement about their distrust of the senior werewolf so he typically kept his distance. Unless specifically called into action. Like he apparently was that evening.

“Fine,” Stiles grumbled, “Even though I don’t understand why Derek keeps that guy around, I can at least understand the rationale in HIM being out here tonight. Aside from the mental instability and tendency to kill everything around him, Peter is actually capable of tracking and finding a werewolf. I however am not. I am the woefully human sidekick in this B-movie that does the research and solves the problems so all you wolfmen can go get the bad guys. Why did Derek ask ME to come looking for a rogue werewolf?” He had been thinking it since he had gotten the call earlier that night. Well, call is a bit of an ambitious term. It was more of a vocal telegraph; short sentences, lots of pauses and stops, and completely one sided. _Rogue werewolf on the preserve. Stop. You and Scott check the east gate area. Stop. Don’t be stupid. Stop._ Stiles couldn’t help chuckling at his own impression of their resident alpha, which earned him an all too familiar confused look from his best friend.

“I think he thinks I won’t help unless you’re included,” Scott mused aloud.

Well. That was actually a pretty possible theory. He was being used as a perk in Derek’s attempts to bring Scott into the fold.

“Fantastic. I get to risk my life repeatedly just so Derek can make more play dates with you.” Stiles rolled his eyes dramatically as Scott scoffed at his assessment.

“Maybe he wants you in the pack too. You never know,” Scott added quietly as he turned to continue their search. Stiles stopped in his tracks and stared blankly at Scott’s moving form as he continued down the trail.

There was a thought. Could Derek actually want Stiles in the pack? He had never really considered it. The pack was all werewolves at the moment, but the Hale family hadn’t been. Had the humans in the family been pack too? In terms of helpfulness, Stiles was at the front of the pack (heh), maybe they did consider him as more than just the occasional research guy. The thought made something in Stiles’ stomach clench and his heart sped up incrementally. Maybe even Derek had started to think of him as more than just Scott’s friend.

A rustling in the underbrush ahead interrupted Stiles’ thoughts. His head whipped around looking for Scott, but he was nowhere to be seen. Stiles’ pulse jack rabbited as panic started to grip at him. He tried to remember to breathe as his eyes scanned wildly through the trees for any sign of his best friend, but his lungs weren’t cooperating. His breaths came quick and shallow as he strained to pinpoint where the noise was coming from over the sound of his own panicked breathing.

“Shit,” he whispered under his breath and took a tentative step towards a nearby tree. He scanned the forest again for any signs of Scott, but all his eyes caught on were the two orange beams of light now staring at him from the bushes.

Wait, orange? Did werewolves have orange eyes? Scott’s were gold, Jackson’s were blue, and Derek’s…well Derek’s were the most intense and terrifying shade of blood red Stiles had ever seen. But, orange? Where did that fit into the mix?

Stiles took another step towards the tree, the orange beads of light following his movement closely. His heart was racing and his hands were shaking as adrenaline flooded his system. His fight or flight reflex was starting to lean heavily towards flight, but he knew how fast werewolves were; there was no way he could outrun one. He tried to listen past the throb of blood pounding in his ears.

There was a sound coming from the bushes, but it didn’t sound like growling. It actually sounded a bit like…swishing, like a dog wagging its tail against the forest floor. Werewolves definitely didn’t have tails. At least, none of the betas did.

Peter had had one though. When he was the alpha, or whatever you could call that monstrosity he turned into.

Shit, was this a rogue alpha? Stiles was seriously reconsidering his decision to heed Derek’s orders tonight.

Stiles knees started to buckle as fear gripped at his heart. He reached back blindly for the tree at his back, trying to steady himself. His lungs were now clenching uncomfortably, gasping for air, a feeling he was all too familiar with as a precursor to a full blown panic attack. His hand finally struck bark and he leaned heavily back against the tree. He couldn’t run. Even if he wasn’t paralyzed with fear, he couldn’t outrun an alpha.

He was going to die. The thought struck him with absolute clarity. He would never survive an alpha attack. He was going to die and his father was going to be left all alone.

Stiles cursed Derek in his mind. Why the hell would you send the non-magically-healing human out to find a rogue alpha? How did he not know he was looking for an alpha? And where the hell was he? Where was Scott for that matter?

Stiles' vision started to swirl at the edges as he tried to tamp down the rising panic in his chest. His eyes were still locked onto the orange beads watching him when he suddenly noticed that the forest was ominously silent. He breathed deeply, preparing himself for the oncoming attack, hoping silently that it would be quick and relatively painless. The orange eyes blinked at him and crept forward. Stiles swallowed down the lump in his throat and closed his eyes, awaiting his death as bravely as he could. 

Luckily Scott chose that moment to come crashing through the brush next to Stiles’ tree. Stiles watched as the beta pounced on the bushes in front of him flushing out the eyes that had been watching him.

But what came running out was far too small to be a werewolf. It actually looked more like a fox. Had Stiles nearly had a panic attack over a stupid fox? Scott spun around trying to trace where his target had gone, looking for something much taller than a fox. Stiles let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and stepped out towards Scott.

“Don’t worry bro, it was just a stupid fox,” Stiles called out. “Your nose must need some work if you’re mistaking foxes for werewolves now,” he joked, still trying to settle his rattled nerves.

Scott looked up at him startled and confused.

“What?” Stiles questioned, looking behind him as if someone would be there.

“Stiles, I am 100% sure that what I smelled was at least part human.”

Stiles let this new information wash over him. Maybe the fox was a were…fox? Did werefoxes exist? Well werewolves did, and it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing he’d seen; memories of Jackson as a scaly murder beast flashed through his mind. Ok, if kanimas existed, it was totally possible that werefoxes did.

“Well that’s a new one. I didn’t think we’d be looking for a werefox tonight,” he said excitedly to Scott.

Scott was still stalking the area around Stiles looking for the creature in question. He caught movement just behind where Stiles was bouncing on his heels, still beaming at the realization that werefoxes existed. Scott shook his head at him; he had some truly strange friends. And that wasn't even taking into account the the ones that turned furry and murderous once a month.

“Dude, how awesome is this? Werefoxes! That’s way cooler than evil lizard men. How are you not excited by thi…OWWW!” Stiles’ words cut off with a yelp of pain. He looked down to see the fox sinking its teeth into his calf.

“Son of a BITCH!” he shouted as he shook the fox loose with a kick. As soon as its jaws released Stiles' leg, it took off in the opposite direction. Scott raced after the fox, chasing it from the preserve while Stiles tried to examine the bite on his leg. It was bleeding steadily, but not in that crazy horror movie “spray blood all over the walls” way he had half expected. He could feel heat spreading through his veins from the wound and his skin itched with a burning pain.

Great, maybe he was allergic and was having a reaction. It’s not like they would ever have known to test for werefox allergies when he was a kid. Nor would they have been able to. That really wasn’t important at the moment, but Stiles' mind was racing in 80 different directions and he was finding it hard to pin down any one rational train of thought.

His head started to swim as all the thoughts buzzing through it crashed into one another. His breathing turned shallow again and he felt his heart pumping faster than it should be able to, spreading the heat from the bite through his body even faster. Vague thoughts drifted through his mind as the darkness around him crawled closer. Maybe he should sit down. He felt like he should be doing something about the bloody wound on his leg, but he couldn’t remember why. Sinking to the ground, he had a half-hearted thought that he should call his dad. His dad would know how to fix him, right? His dad could fix anything. He was superman. Stiles vision started to cloud over as the heat spread to his head. He thought he heard someone calling his name, but he couldn’t figure out who or where they were. Instead he closed his eyes and let his head fall forward onto his chest as his mind went blissfully blank and he passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles woke with a grunt as he was thrown over someone’s shoulder. He tried to remember where he was and why someone was carrying him, but all he could focus on was the sharp pain in his ribs and the itchy pain in his leg. He took a few deep breaths and his head cleared some, but his heartbeat was impossibly loud in his ears. Something smelled like burning, but he couldn’t place what it was. The view from his vantage point was, not bad actually. A strong back lead to an ample bottom that moved hypnotically as muscular legs sprinted across the forest floor.

So he was in the forest. That was something. He had been there chasing something, hadn’t he? 

Wait a second. Scott had been with him, hadn’t he? That would explain who was carrying him. And how they were still managing to sprint while hauling him over their shoulder. 

“Scott,” he attempted to groan to get his best friend’s attention. It apparently worked, thank god for werewolf hearing. 

 

“Hey buddy,” he breathlessly responded. So werewolves could still get winded. That was also good to know. Though how much of that was from exertion and how much was from stress, he couldn’t be sure. “I know you hurt right now, but just hold tight. You got bit by a…well, by what looked like a werefox. I tried to catch him, but he slipped off somehow. I’m sorry, man. You shouldn’t even have been out there. We’re almost at Derek’s, he should know what to do.”

Stiles wanted to complain. He wanted to argue that Derek didn’t even know what he was doing with wolves, let alone how to handle a werefox bite. Hell, he hadn’t even realized they were looking for a werefox. Great. This was just perfect. His head started pounding with the sounds of his and Scott’s heartbeats. The leaves and branches rushing by crashed through his eardrums like a hurricane. This couldn’t be good. The heat from the bite had died down to a comfortable warmness that spread all over his body. His nose started to twitch as the scent of Scott’s sweat and fear hit him. 

Did he just smell fear? This was so not good. 

“Hey, uh, Scott?” Stiles started, “Does fear have kind of a burn-y, cold, sulfur-y scent?”

Scott stopped abruptly, jostling Stiles ribs into his shoulder. Stiles let out an undignified squeak at the sharp pain in his rib. His heart clenched at Scott’s reaction. He waited a moment longer for a response before tapping Scott’s hip with his still dangling foot. Scott startled and started walking again, inhaling slowly before answering. 

“It’s not usually a burn-y smell, but cold and sulfur-y sound about right. Can you smell that right now?” Stiles didn’t need to smell the fear in Scott just then, he could hear it in the way his voice wavered. 

“I guess I can. That’s…different,” Stiles joked in an attempt to lighten the mood some. However, Scott’s mood didn’t seem any lighter. In fact, he seemed more concerned. 

Stiles blinked away the sudden onslaught of light as they entered the moonlit clearing of the Hale house. He could hear feet shuffling from inside the house…which was a good 30 yards away still. Definitely new. 

“You good to walk buddy?” Scott asked quietly, voice still laced with concern.

Stiles nodded and shifted to let himself off of Scott’s shoulder. He now understood why no one volunteered to demonstrate the fireman’s carry; it was crazy uncomfortable. Scott grabbed around Stiles’ waist to ease him to the ground, keeping one hand there to steady him once his feet were on the ground. 

Scott’s arm felt heavy around Stiles’ waist. He bristled some, trying to shake his friend’s arm off. He felt trapped and it made him nervous. Since when did Scott make him feel trapped? He had always felt safe with Scott. His heart skipped lightly as his ears picked up on the strong heartbeat behind the door. For some reason it seemed even louder than Scott’s, even though he was standing right next to him. 

Before Scott could announce their presence, the door was thrown open and Derek’s bulky silhouette was framed by the charred remains of his doorway. He looked angry, but no more so than usual. His eyes roamed over the two teenagers before him, stopping slightly at Scott’s arm around Stiles waist. 

“Stiles got bit,” Scott blurted out suddenly. Stiles rolled his eyes at his best friend. Scott was never good in tense situations. Not that Stiles was much better, but Scott was just so obvious. Derek’s eyes snapped back to Stiles, searching for the wound. He tilted his head up and sniffed the air, noting the new layer to Stiles’ familiar scent. The boy always smelled like a mixture of sweat, anxiety, and arousal, but now there was something different, something foreign. It was the same odd burnt scent he had been tracking earlier, not quite the typical wolf scent, but very similar. This was not good. Stiles had been bitten. By another werewolf. He could be dead by morning. Derek wasn’t sure which part bothered him more, the thought of Stiles dying, or the thought of him belonging to someone else. He squared his shoulders and moved back from the doorway.

“Bring him inside, I need to look at the bite,” he ordered. Shockingly Scott didn’t argue at all, he just grabbed tighter around Stiles hip (causing a jolt of anger to shoot through Derek) and helped him inside and onto what had too often lately been used as an operating table. 

Once Stiles was situated Scott stood back, but kept his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Derek approached slowly, hands at his side, loosely open, appeasing. Stiles’ breathing calmed some for the first time in hours as he watched Derek reach down and gingerly grasp his ankle and knee, extending his leg out for a better look at the wound. The blood had already stopped seeping, but the area was still raw and ragged looking, dried blood splattered to the skin around it. Stiles winced involuntarily as Derek cautiously probed the skin around the deepest punctures of the bite. It still stung, but nothing like before. Stiles tried to distract himself from the pain by focusing on Derek’s face as he studied the bite. His scowl was firmly in place, but his eyes held concern, and something else. If he didn’t know any better, Stiles might have called it jealousy. He watched as red slowly bled into his irises. Maybe that look was anger instead of jealousy after all. 

Derek’s jaw tightened and his gaze lifted up through his eyelashes to look directly into Stiles’ eyes. Stiles felt his heart stop for moment as he sucked in a sharp breath. He had only seen Derek’s alpha eyes a handful of times, but he had never been the direct recipient of that piercing gaze. It was terrifying and beautiful all at the same time. Kind of like Derek in general. Stiles breathed in and his mouth watered as the scent of Derek so close hit his throat. He smelled amazing. Like wood fire and pine needles and…home. What the hell was that about?

Derek released Stiles leg slowly and his eyes shifted back to their standard indescribable hazel/blue/gray/green. Seriously, everything about this guy was ridiculously gorgeous.

“The bite is healing, so most likely he will survive it,” Derek announced. Rude, much? He was sitting right there. Derek didn’t have to talk like he was a child who didn’t understand the ridiculously shitty and dangerous situation he was in. Derek threw a glance in Stiles’ direction as if he knew exactly what Stiles was thinking and rolled his eyes. “He’s going to need to stay here for the night to make sure there are no…complications, so Scott, I need you to go get him some clothes. Tell his dad that he’s staying at your house.” 

Scott prickled immediately at the order, but his body sagged as he looked at his best friend who was either going to become a werefox or die. That definitely put things in perspective. Oh, right! Derek didn’t know it was a werefox yet.

“Uh Derek,” Scott started sheepishly, “Just so you know, the guy we were chasing wasn’t a werewolf.” Derek turned to face him, arms crossed, face sour. 

“What do you mean? I could smell him. He’s definitely not human.”

“That I will agree with,” Stiles chimed in from the table. “He is most definitely not human. But unless wolves now come in miniature red versions with fluffy tails, he also wasn’t a wolf.” Derek glared at him, as if he was angry that Stiles was siding with Scott even after Derek tried to help him. Stiles cowered under Derek’s intense gaze, but he shifted forward slightly trying to enforce his alliance with Derek physically. 

“I was bitten by a fox Derek. A werefox.” 

Derek’s arms uncrossed and dropped from his chest in surprise. A werefox? He had heard that they might once have existed, but he can’t remember anyone in his family ever having come across one. Anger started to slip back into his thoughts. Of course. Of course Stiles couldn’t be bitten by a werewolf so he would at least be that same species as Derek, he had to get bitten by a creature that no one had even seen for generations. How was he supposed to deal with this? Did foxes even have alphas? He thought they were more familial. The potential thought hit Derek’s stomach like a lead weight; Stiles becoming family. Derek still longed for some sense of the family he had lost. And now, Stiles needed to seek out a family, it would be instinctual. As long as he survived the night. 

Derek breathed out a sigh and turned to Scott, “Either way, he still needs to stay so we can keep an eye on him.” Scott nodded guiltily and headed for the door. 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” And with that, he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles turned slowly to Derek, obviously trying to force his heart rate to slow down. Derek could smell the anxiety rolling off of him. Try as he might to put on a brave face, he was still just a scared little boy down deep inside. It was all too familiar to Derek. 

“Go lay down,” Derek suggested a little more forcefully than necessary, “The bed’s upstairs. Second door on the right.” Stiles startled at the generosity coming from Derek, of all people. He expected him to leave him on the rotted out couch in the living room. Wait, had he said ‘the bed’? As in the only one? Did Derek ‘EveryoneHatesMeAndIHateThemBack’ Hale just offer up his own bed to Stiles?

“Well that is unexpectedly kind of you,” Stiles snarked. He really shouldn’t be sassing Derek since he was being so thoughtful, but he couldn’t help it. He liked to press people’s buttons. It helped him cope with the mess of terrible thoughts running through his own mind all the time. 

“Would you rather sleep on the ground,” Derek snapped back. Stiles smirked at the obvious rise he was able to get out of Derek. 

“Nah, the bed sounds quite nice actually. But where are you going to sleep?” 

Derek crossed his arms with a huff. 

“I’m not. I’m going to make sure you survive the night, then I’m going to kick your ass out in the morning,” he deadpanned. Stiles’ face fell in mock outrage. 

“I am hurt. You would just kick a poor, newly turned pup out on the streets? What kind of alpha are you? Wait are baby foxes called pups? Or are they kits or something?” Stiles debated to himself. Derek gaped at him with a pained look causing Stiles’ muttering to come to a stuttering halt. 

“Foxes don’t have alphas,” he sighed resignedly, “but they do have pups.” The corner of Stiles’ mouth turned up slowly, amused that Derek was playing along. 

“Even so, you would abandon a pup to die on its own?” he asked dramatically, throwing a hand to his head for effect and shrinking down to the floor. He peeked up at Derek from under his hand just in time to see him roll his eyes in an equally dramatic fashion. 

Derek reached down and hauled Stiles back to his feet. His hands lingered on Stiles’ arms, reveling in the spark of heat he felt winding into him where their skin touched. His heart raced at the feeling, nerves jumping, anxious to figure out what it could mean. Stiles didn’t pull away. He looked up at Derek with wide eyes, clearly startled by the sensation. Derek fixed his eyes on where his hand rested on Stiles’ arm. He could feel his wolf trying to break to the surface, but why? There was no threat here. 

Stiles held his breath, watching the expressions flick across Derek’s face as his eyes again began to glow red. Maybe he had done something wrong, pushed Derek too far with his teasing. He breathed in, trying to acclimate himself to the scent. Through Derek’s normal scent of pine and wood fire, he smelled something sweet, like strawberries. Derek didn’t seem angry, but this was twice in a matter of minutes that he had inadvertently brought out Derek’s alpha…ness. He breathed out a sigh and tried to force himself to calm down. Derek snapped his gaze to Stiles’ mouth and inhaled, closing his eyes and basking in the heady scent of Stiles. The burning scent had started to mix into his own and had transformed into a smoky, musty aroma that wrapped around him and calmed his racing heart. Shaking himself from his reverie, he released Stiles’ arms and gestured to the stairs.

“Upstairs, second on the right. Go.”

Stiles stepped away hesitantly. His eyes lingered on Derek’s face, watching for some sign of actual anger, but finding nothing. 

“Thanks,” he offered quietly as exhaustion finally hit him and he headed up the stairs. 

 

Derek listened to Stiles heartbeat from what was once the kitchen. It had been hopping distractedly since he entered the house, but it slowed rather quickly once he was alone. Perhaps Derek was making him as nervous as he was making Derek. Derek huffed out a breath and made his way silently upstairs. 

Stiles lay in the bed trying to keep his heart rate slow. His heart had been racing for so long, he felt like he had run a marathon. The bite didn’t burn at all anymore. In fact, it didn’t even hurt. It was still a little itchy, but he knew better than to scratch at it. He had been listening to Derek on the floor below, breathing and sighing, and shuffling his feet. It made Stiles chuckle to hear how anxious Derek was. It was nice to know he cared. The fear had gone out of him once he realized he could now hear and smell things he shouldn’t be able to. He knew the bite was taking. He knew in the morning he would be a full-fledged were-creature. The thought should have bothered him more, but he was just too tired. Derek was coming up the stairs now; Stiles was sure he wouldn’t have heard him with strictly human ears. It was comforting to have Derek nearer. He could smell that piney, smoky scent again and it quickly soothed him into a near slumber state.

Derek paused outside of the door Stiles was behind. His scent permeated the room and Derek shivered at the thought of that scent being all over his bed in the morning. He pushed the door open gently and peeked inside. Stiles was curled up facing the wall on the right side of the bed. Derek wondered if Stiles knew that he slept on the left side of the bed, or if it was just coincidence. Considering his sneakers were at the foot of Derek’s side, he didn’t think any of this was coincidence. 

He stalked to the bed silently, cringing at the thought of what Stiles would say if he saw him right now, lurking in the shadows. But Stiles was asleep, curled up, vulnerable, and strangely appealing. There was something about the kid, at least when he wasn’t talking, that just made him look…well, adorable. He didn’t have Derek’s rugged looks, but he was starting to look like a man, and Derek knew from his own adolescence how drastically your looks could change. He could see the man that Stiles would become, and he liked what he saw. 

Derek shook himself from his thoughts and looked back at his bed. Until they knew what was happening, Stiles was his charge for the night. Stiles was under his protection. Those were the only thoughts he was allowing himself to think: ‘Take care of Stiles.’ 

Derek sat down gingerly on his side of the bed. He leaned forward to examine the bite on Stiles’ leg; it wasn’t healed yet. A wolf would have healed by now. Carefully, he pulled Stiles ankle towards him. The bite looked different up close. It was still red, but up close Derek could see that the skin had all knit itself back together. Before he could stop himself, Derek ran a finger along the bite, thinking wistfully again about the fact that Stiles was turned by someone else. 

 

Stiles took that opportunity to shift on the bed and roll over so he was wrapped around where Derek sat. Derek stiffened. He needed to leave Stiles alone. The bite was healing, his body was accepting it; he would be fine. Derek started to stand up but was stopped by Stiles hand wrapping around his wrist tightly, and much stronger than it had ever managed before. His eyes snapped back to the figure on the bed. Stiles eyes were wide open and fiercely glowing amber instead of his usual honey brown. 

The wolf in Derek howled its approval. Derek was overcome with the need to claim, to bring Stiles to heel. He stared back at Stiles, his eyes fiery red, nostrils flaring, trying to inhale as much of Stiles’ scent as possible. His hand shot forward and grabbed Stiles’ chin, forcing his face up further. Stiles was pliable in his hand, following whatever he wanted him to do. His eyes drifted shut as a smile crossed his face. Stiles nuzzled his nose down into Derek’s hand, breathing in his scent happily. He licked out at Derek’s palm experimentally. Derek froze. Stiles was marking him. Scenting him. Claiming HIM! 

Stiles reached up to grab at Derek’s jaw, pulling his face down closer. Derek absently obliged, still in shock at Stiles’ behavior. Stiles buried his face in Derek’s neck and breathed deeply. Licking another stripe at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Derek involuntarily rolled his head to the other side, giving Stiles more area. Stiles’ eyes glowed brighter still as he licked a stripe from Derek’s shoulder to his jaw. Shivers ran the length of Derek’s body as he allowed himself to be marked in such an obscene way. Stiles hummed happily into his neck, curling back down onto the bed. 

Derek tried to stand, tried to walk away from whatever had just happened. He stood and managed to take two steps before he picked up on the small whine coming from the bed. Stiles’ eyes were closed again, but his arm was stretched out across where Derek had been sitting moments before, hand clutching at the residual heat. He had no choice really. Stiles was an abandoned pup, he was Derek’s responsibility. Derek sighed and sat back down at the head of his bed, leaning back against the wall. The whining stopped immediately. 

Stiles crawled up the bed until he was even with Derek and threw himself across Derek’s lap. One hand clutched at Derek’s thigh while the other arm wrapped around his waist. Stiles face was resting dangerously close to Derek’s crotch, but there was nothing he could do to move him. Derek sighed resignedly. He placed a hand on Stiles head and scratched soothingly. Stiles moaned against him and Derek could feel the blood rushing to his dick at the lustful sound. His mind was racing with thoughts of Stiles splayed out in front of him as he ripped moan after moan from his throat. Thoughts of kissing his way down to Stiles’ own erection, taking him into his mouth and pulling every obscene noise he could from the boy’s lips. 

No. 

This was wrong. He thought about the fire, dead babies, anything to stop his body from making this any more embarrassing. 

Stiles seemed to have other ideas. He buried his nose into the space between Derek’s legs and inhaled, moaning out his delight at the new scent. Stiles nuzzled further against Derek’s growing erection and gripped tighter onto his thigh and waist. Derek slammed his head back against the wall, his hand winding into Stiles’ hair subconsciously. This was not what he had expected when Scott said Stiles had been bitten. Stiles hands relaxed. He stopped nuzzling and simply breathed against Derek’s now rigid erection. Derek released his grip on Stiles’ hair and resumed stroking him gently. Stiles hummed happily and fell into a deep sleep. Derek breathed, slowly, trying to will his erection away before Stiles came back to his senses. He lay still, listening to Stiles’ breaths, watching the rise and fall of his chest, his hand still absently soothing him. 

Eventually, Derek felt himself soften. He slumped against the headboard and shuffled down the bed until he was in a more prone position. He expected Stiles to shimmy up his body as he slid down the bed, but he should have known better than to expect Stiles to ever be predictable. Rather than shifting to stay where he was as Derek moved, Stiles gripped onto him tighter and slid down the bed with him. His head was still buried in Derek’s crotch. His legs had wrapped around Derek’s as they slid down the bed. Derek looked down at the ridiculous boy currently wrapped around him, closer than anyone had been in years. What was he going to do with him? Derek sighed and let one hand rest against his chest while the other snaked down to wind into Stiles hair once again. Stiles’ head nuzzled up into the touch and he purred happily. 

This was not good. This was terribly, horribly, very not good. 

Derek’s eyes drifted shut with the litany of how many ways this was “not good” running through his head. But no matter how loud the voices were, he couldn’t stop the knot that was loosening in his heart with every stroke of Stiles’ hair. Derek fell asleep to the sound of Stiles’ breathing and the skipping of his own heartbeat.


	4. Chapter 4

_Stiles is running through the forest. He doesn’t remember how he got there or where exactly he is, but he knows something is chasing him. He can hear pounding footsteps getting closer and closer as he sprints through the underbrush. His heart is racing. He can hear snarls coming from whatever is chasing him, though he’s positive it isn’t human at this point. Stiles dives behind a fallen tree, chancing a glance behind him as he falls. An enormous black shape creeps out from the shadows and Stiles has to muffle a yelp as he tries to flatten himself into the ground._

_That is definitely a wolf. A gigantic wolf. It stands at least 5 feet tall at the shoulder with jet black fur and teeth gleaming menacingly in the moonlight. A pair of very, very red eyes scan the area around Stiles. The massive wolf pauses for a moment, sniffing the air, trying to pick up on Stiles’ scent again._

_Stiles tries to steady his breathing; now is not the time for a panic attack. He can hear the wolf still sniffing at the air, claws crunching in the leaves as it paces the small clearing. He knows it can smell him. What is waiting for? Is it just toying with him? Stiles’ curiosity gets the better of him and he peeks up over his tree.  
The massive wolf is lunging directly at him, teeth exposed in a snarl. Panic crashes over Stiles as he attempts in vain to scramble away. The air punches out of his lungs as the wolf knocks him back against the ground. A sharp pain pierces his shoulder and he can feel the blood pooling around the claws digging into him. Blazing red eyes latch onto his, daring him to scream. The wolf bends his head down, sniffing at Stiles exposed neck gently. Stiles has a moment to feel ticklish at the small huffs of air dancing across his neck, before the wolf is opening its jaws to rip through the tender flesh. Pain and panic race through Stiles’ body. He can hear his own frantic screaming echoing across the trees surround them. He pushes with all his might, hands fisted in the beast’s fur, fingernails biting uselessly at its dense skin. _

_It’s no use. Stiles gurgled screams die out as the wolf’s teeth connect, a large chunk of his throat between them._

 

Stiles eyes flew open. His breath was coming in ragged pants, heart skipping far too quickly, as he tried to take in his surroundings. He wasn’t in the forest anymore. He was in…a bedroom. He let out a grateful sigh. He was safe. There was no wolf. Everything was fine.

But this wasn’t his bedroom. Whose room was he in? Why didn’t he remember how he had gotten there?

He realized then that he wasn’t alone. In fact, his head seemed to be cradled in someone’s lap. Someone whose hand was gently stroking his hair while sucking in a sharp, shallow breath. Stiles looked down and saw where his hand was clenching at said person’s thigh, perhaps a bit too tightly if their pained breath was anything to go by. He consciously forced himself to breathe deeply, relaxing his hand in the process. However, his breathing immediately sped back up once he noticed the claws he was currently pulling out of his human pillow’s leg. 

He sat up abruptly, holding his hands out in front of him as if they were poisonous. His eyes flicked from his hands to the face of his human pillow. His expression shifted from horrified to genuine confusion as Derek Hale stared back at him patiently. 

How the hell did he end up sleeping on Derek Hale? Wait. Did that mean this was Derek Hale’s room? He was sleeping in Derek Hale’s bed?

Stiles squashed the thrill that fired through him at the thought of sleeping in Derek’s bed in favor of continuing his valiant attempt to not freak the fuck out. Derek’s typical calm and stoic demeanor actually seemed to be helping; it was giving Stiles something to direct his anxiety at. 

“Why do I have claws?” he asked Derek, pretending the crack in his voice was merely from being sleepy. Derek stared at him for a moment as if gauging whether or not he was prepared for the truth. 

“You got bitten last night. By a werefox,” he finally revealed, watching Stiles’ face cautiously. 

Stiles’ arms fell to his sides in shock. He was bitten. By a werefox. He had claws. Wait. HE HAD CLAWS. He was becoming a werefox! 

His memory of the previous night came crashing to the front of his mind; images of Scott in the forest, the werefox’s jaw clamping around his calf, blood, lots of blood, Scott carrying him over his shoulder, Derek gently holding his leg to inspect the bite, Stiles pulling him into the bed with him, wrapping his arms around him, licking him, nuzzling into his lap…

Stiles’ face burned hot as a blush spread across his cheeks. He looked back up at Derek whose expression was unreadable. Stiles sniffed experimentally, trying to get some kind of read on Derek. He could smell Derek’s scent faintly through his own overwhelming embarrassment, but nothing else was coming through. Derek reached forward to place a hand on Stiles’ knee in what he thought was a comforting gesture. 

However, Stiles jumped at the movement and scrambled backwards, trying to avoid the contact, eyes wide and terrified. A tiny frantic voice screamed in his head: Derek is a predator. Derek is a wolf. Apparently his fox instincts were not up to date with the friend or foe memo on Derek Hale yet. While Stiles knew Derek wasn’t trying to hurt him in any way, some latent foreign instinct was desperately trying to tell him he was. 

As Stiles tried to push the instinct down a second train of thought barreled to the foreground of his mind: he had marked Derek. He licked him and claimed him as his own. He had laid claim to a wolf! This was bad. This was very bad. He wasn’t completely briefed on werewolf protocol, but he was 90% sure Derek had every right to eviscerate him. 

Stiles’ eyes flicked up to take in Derek’s expression. As always Derek sat with a stoic mask in place, giving nothing away. For all Stiles knew, Derek was seething with barely contained rage and was just waiting for the right moment to destroy him. Knowing Derek, it would not be quick either. He would probably rip Stiles’ stomach open and slowly pull out his intestines only to strangle him with them while he ripped his heart out with his bare hands. 

Panic surged to the surface once again and Stiles stared blankly at the sheets twisted around him, trapping him. At that thought the flight instinct kicked in harder. The need to run for his life screamed through his mind. 

Derek watched the fear and confusion dance across Stiles face with apprehension. The boy looked terrified. He considered reaching for him again, slower, but as soon as he lifted his hand Stiles scrambled back until there was no more bed under his hands. 

A brief moment of panic flashed through his features as he slipped off the edge of the bed. He hit the floor in a jumble of sheets…and clothing? Something wasn’t right. The bed seemed much too high up, even from his new vantage point. He looked down at the fabrics bunched at his feet, and felt the air rush out of him for the second time in as many seconds. He was staring down at two fuzzy black paws, attached to two furry legs. 

 

The fox let out a yelp of surprise and a shiver ran down his back as an actual yelp echoed around the room. He scrabbled backwards, nails clicking and sliding on the floor, trying unsuccessfully to untangle his limbs from the clothes and sheets pooled at his now numerous feet. His struggling only seemed to worsen his situation until he was fully covered and trapped in the sheets. A small whine escaped his throat as he laid his head down on two fuzzy front legs in defeat, resigning himself to be trapped in the sheets forever. 

A creak of springs came from the bed and Stiles heard soft footsteps moving towards him. Fear pooled in his stomach. He could feel the fur on the back of his neck rising in a ridiculous desperation to appear larger, more menacing. His nose twitched at the scents surrounding him, trying to discern anything that might help him. He picked up on a number of scents, some belonging to him and some belonging to something much bigger and more dangerous. 

A wolf. 

His mind raced to figure a way out of his cloth prison before the wolf was upon him. His tail trashed frantically as the footsteps came closer. Stiles felt the cool evening air hit his tail as the sheet was slowly lifted. He fought with the instinct to bury deeper into the sheet to avoid the wolf and the impulse to dash out into the room now that he could. 

As Stiles’ internal battle raged on, Derek simply reached down and picked up the fox shaped lump still mostly trapped in the sheet. He felt Stiles struggling against his arms, frantically trying to escape his hold, his heart racing and his lungs pumping much faster than any wolf’s ever would. Derek cradled him against his chest, trying to force him to hear his own steady heartbeat in an effort to calm him down. He knew Stiles was prone to panic attacks and desperately wanted to avoid one. He didn’t know how to take care of people like that. Physical things, he could handle, but a panic attack was slightly outside of his comfort zone.

Derek stroked Stiles’ back through the sheets, hoping his calm would bleed through. Stiles’ pulse still raced, but his lungs seemed to slow down ever so slightly. He found the edge of the sheet and pulled it back, exposing Stiles’ nose so he could breathe easier. The pointed little nose twitched in the fresh air, whiskers wiggling as it tried to identify the scents around it. 

Stiles still smelled wolf very close by and his heart began to pick up speed. He fought against whatever was holding him, lashing out with his claws, whipping his tail back and forth as he scrabbled for purchase to leap away. As he struggled a familiar scent suddenly crossed his nose. Buried underneath the scent of wolf was a smell he hadn’t known he could recognize. He stopped struggling immediately and let the scent of pine and woodfire wrap around him. He felt himself relax against the muscle wrapped around him as one thought filled his mind: home. 

The sheet fell away as Stiles nosed further out to see who was holding him and where the wolf had gone. His eyes scanned the room, but all he found was a stripped bed and a pile of his own clothing. His nose twitched and turned to find the source of the welcoming scent. 

Red eyes looked down at him and Stiles knew he should be scared. Red eyes meant alpha werewolf. This was not someone he should trust. And yet, he was comforted by those red eyes. A name flashed through his mind. Derek. Wait, Derek? His mind finally caught up, filling in where his instincts had cut him off. Derek Hale, alpha of the Hale Pack, ally, friend. Home? 

Stiles eyes burned amber as he crawled up Derek’s chest, burying his nose into the man’s neck. He inhaled the scent of pack, of home, of family, and nuzzled down into familiar heat of him. Derek’s sighed under him and Stiles felt the man lean down to rest his scruffy cheek against Stiles’ surprisingly soft ears. 

Slowly Stiles’ mind emerged from the fog of instinct that had clouded it. He was a fox right now. He had actually turned into a fox out of panic. His mind was having a hard time wrapping itself around that little fact. He still felt like himself, at least now he did, but he was unmistakably in the body of a fox. How did that even work? A fox is a hell of a lot smaller than a human teenager, even a 147 pound one made of pale skin and fragile bone. This was not something he ever thought he would have to prepare for. 

He realized then that Derek was still cuddling him and petting his back slowly. The thought made him blush. At least he felt like he was blushing. Could foxes blush? He had a lot of research to do. Either way, Derek didn’t seem to notice or mind, so he settled further into the arms wrapped around him, letting the older man comfort him. At least one of them didn’t seem freaked out that he had just turned into a freaking fox. 

 

Stiles lay there breathing in Derek’s scent and counting his heartbeats as his chest rose and fell with each breath. It was hypnotic and soon Stiles’ own breath and heartbeat settled enough to match it. He was still beyond confused and a million questions were fighting for ground in his mind, but his panic had completely subsided. He wasn’t sure if Derek knew he was in control of himself again or if he just thought his alpha-ness had brought the fox in his arms into line, but Stiles decided he didn’t really care. He tucked his head down and licked a quick stripe along Derek’s collarbone in thanks. He felt the shiver run through the man as he pulled his tongue back into his mouth and chuckled quietly, marveling at the sound as it came out as fox chatter.

Of course Scott chose that moment to return with a bag of Stiles’ clothes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the support so far! This is my first attempt at a chapter fic, so I'm kinda testing the waters...a lot. You've all been super sweet and encouraging so far, so I'll try to keep updating as quickly as possible. 
> 
> Just as a warning, this will eventually (actually really soon) be turning into a NSFW fic. Can't have a good fanfic without sex scenes and whatnot. 
> 
> I'm also thinking this is going to end up a bit longer than I initially planned. (Somewhere around 15-20 chapters. I'll warn you when the end is sight.) Until then, we're on this ride together!!
> 
> Additional shoutout to Katelyn for being my super cheerleader and new beta! (I always laugh about the whole beta thing on Teen Wolf fics. I'm easily amused.)
> 
> Anyway...enjoy! Let me know if you have any suggestions!

Scott froze in the doorway; jaw hanging open, eyes glued to the center of the room.

 

Where Derek Hale was cuddling a fox.

 

Questions flew through his mind: Why was the bedding all over the floor? Were those Stiles’ clothes? Why the fox? Was that Stiles?! Did Stiles just lick Derek? Is Derek really cuddling Stiles? Derek likes to cuddle?? He thought over which question to start with, but somehow his mouth decided on a separate route.

 

“Is Stiles naked right now?”

 

Derek’s head shot up at the sound of Scott’s voice. Somehow he hadn’t heard the boy’s return, and this was obviously a moment he never expected anyone else to see.

 

Stiles let out a halfhearted whuff of air and rolled his eyes dramatically, which was actually quite impressive looking on a fox’s face.

 

Derek slowly lowered Stiles until he could jump onto the bed. Which he attempted to do and failed spectacularly. His take off was decent, but his landing was terrible. He missed his footing altogether and ended up faceplanting before scrabbling to even stand. His legs weren’t very sure on the springy mattress.

 

Derek turned to glare at Scott. To Scott’s defense, the glare did very little to actually rustle him anymore. In fact, he only barely noticed that Derek was glaring at him because his eyes were still glued to Stiles who was now batting the mattress with his paw and bouncing happily every time it sprang back up. Scott wasn’t sure if it was the fox’s curiosity or just Stiles being Stiles, but either way, watching the bushy tail flip back and forth as he sprang about the bed was actually adorable.

 

Derek turned to see what had Scott so mesmerized. His shoulders sagged in begrudging amusement as he watched Stiles miss his landing and barrel roll across the bed only to realize how much fun it was, and roll all the way back. Derek felt a pang of loss as he remembered watching Laura do the same thing the first time she turned full alpha. He remembered how much she had enjoyed getting her back scratched in that form, not that she would admit it to anyone other than Derek. Although, now that he thinks about it, he was the only one that ever got a chance to know.

 

“So this is a new development,” Scott offered from the doorway. Stiles was now nosing at the sheet still on the mattress as if he was trying to burrow under it.

 

“It would appear the bite took quite well. And that werefoxes are a bit more susceptible to full shifts,” Derek responded. Scott still hadn’t moved from the doorway, but he was now leaning against the frame watching Stiles fondly. Derek vaguely wondered if he would ever look at someone like that again. He then glanced back at Stiles who was now watching the two of them eagerly while still subconsciously batting at the mattress experimentally with one paw and felt a small smiled creep onto his face. Maybe he already was fond of someone. Maybe he didn’t have to be alone.

 

The realization didn’t exactly hit him so much as douse him with ice-cold fear. Nothing good came of being associated with him. He was like poison.

 

Stiles eyes snapped to Derek’s face, noticing the sudden panic that washed over the man. He padded slowly over to the edge of the bed where Derek was still standing and nosed gently at his limp, clammy hand. Something had definitely scared the wolf, but Stiles had no idea what. Derek’s hand gradually opened up and curled its way into Stiles fur. Stiles felt some of the tension leak out of the man as he nodded his head further into his grasp.

 

“So…how do we get him to change back?” Scott asked, breaking the two from the moment. Derek simply looked down at Stiles and shrugged his shoulders.

 

“He turned when he was scared, so hopefully he’ll turn back when he’s not scared anymore.” It seemed reasonable enough. Stiles shrugged in agreement, which was equally adorable in a fox’s body. Derek really needed to stop using the word ‘adorable’ is regards to Stiles.

 

“Wait, why was he scared? What did you do?” Scott demanded. He pulled away from the doorframe and stepped towards Derek angrily.

 

“I didn’t do anything,” Derek snapped back, “He fell asleep and then woke up and probably freaked out when he realized he was laying in my la…bed...”

 

Stiles nudged Derek’s hand in appreciation for not telling Scott he had been nuzzling into Derek’s crotch when he woke up. Derek’s fingers tightened in return.

 

Scott watched the exchange with suspicion, but chose to ignore it for now. There were more pressing matters at hand.

 

“Fine,” he sighed, “but he’s not going to be able to go home until he’s on two legs again.” Derek and Stiles nodded their agreement in tandem. Nothing about this seemed normal to Scott, but his whole life was abnormal at this point, so maybe this was just par for the course.

 

“Anyway,” he continued, “I think I caught the scent of the fox that bit him around the house. It was really faint, so I don’t think it’s fresh, but it has to be fresher than when you initially caught it. I think it came looking for Stiles. I tried to follow it, but it just disappeared about 100 yards to the west.”

 

Stiles seemed intrigued by this news, but Derek was visibly angered. He didn’t like unwanted creatures roaming around his land. He especially didn’t like the fact that they couldn’t seem to get a lock on the stupid thing to track it down. Tension seeped back into the alpha’s shoulders and red bled back into his eyes. He could feel his claws coming out and released his grip on Stiles in fear of hurting him.

 

Stiles chattered frantically from his perch on the bed, forgetting momentarily that he didn’t have human vocal chords at the moment. Scott raised one eyebrow in confusion, but Stiles kept chirping away.

 

Derek’s breath seemed to hiss out from between his clenched teeth as his rage slowly started coming to a boil.

 

Stiles pawed softly at his hip, biting at the air near his waist. Derek’s red eyes snapped down to where the soft fox paws were pushing at his leg. He could see the desperation in Stiles’ eyes, the need to say something, and the frustration that he couldn’t. Derek knew that they needed to discuss and plan, and that Stiles would be a valuable asset in said discussion, but his rage had built up too far. He needed to get out. He needed to run. To maim.

 

“I’m going to run the perimeter, see if I can find anything,” Derek quickly spat out. “We can discuss this when I get back.”

 

 

Scott watched as Stiles sank back onto the bed, an understanding look on his face. He dropped the bag of clothes by the door and moved to sit with his best friend as Derek stormed out of the room, features shifting on his way.

 

Scott sat down gently and watched Derek’s retreating form. Stiles whuffed softly at the empty doorway.

 

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” Scott said conversationally, “It’s not like he’s going to have any better luck. The scent just disappears.”

 

Stiles glanced up at him, face showing nothing but ‘unimpressed’. But he shifted closer anyway. He could feel a need for physical comfort, so it was probably better that Scott had stayed with him. Stiles tucked himself against Scott’s side and curled his tail around his back, effectively circling his friend as if he could protect him.

 

He sniffed experimentally and was unsurprised to smell that Scott also smelled like pack, with an undertone of coconut. He sniffed again, searching for that scent that had said ‘home’ to him earlier. He bristled slightly at the realization that the scent wasn’t there. This was Scott. They were practically brothers. How could that homey scent not be part of Scott’s?

 

“Dude, don’t worry. We’ll figure this out. We always do. Well, you always do,” Scott offered in consolation, misinterpreting his friend’s apprehension. Stiles sighed into Scott and laid his head on his front paws. There was so much to figure out and it was so far out of his realm of possibilities, he wasn’t sure he could figure this one out. He didn’t even know how to turn back into a human again. What if he was stuck like this forever?

 

“Maybe you should get some more sleep, you did suffer a bit of shock and trauma earlier tonight and you’ve obviously gone through some stuff. Plus, it’s not like there’s anything we can do right now. Don’t worry, I’ll stay up and keep watch,” Scott said teasingly.

 

He scratched behind Stiles’ ears absently and for a moment Stiles’ mind went totally blank as pure pleasure flooded his system. As soon as Scott stopped, Stiles shivered and pushed his head up into Scott’s hand again. Scott chuckled, but continued to scratch at Stile’s ears. He grabbed the crumpled sheet from the end of the bed and shifted back until he was leaning comfortably at the headboard. He piled the sheet next to him and patted the center of t invitingly. Stiles shot a quick glare at his friend, but exhaustion was catching up to him, so he slowly loped up the bed and nosed at the bundle of sheets. Stiles made quite a show of shifting the sheets into a more appealing rumpled pile before nestling down into them, curling his tail around himself and tucking his nose down into it. It was surprisingly soft, and actually quite comfortable. He huffed out once more and glanced up at his friend who was watching aptly.

 

“You’re good, man. Just go to sleep. I’ve got this.”

 

Stiles whuffed at him and settled back into the mattress. Scott chuckled to himself quietly while he pulled the spare sheet up and over Stiles, tucking it in around the fuzzy lump on the bed.

 

Stiles could sense the gloating look Scott was sporting and hissed at him. Then started for a moment because he had actually hissed. Like a snake. Foxes are weird.

 

“Sorry man, you’re too cute like this. I had to do it,” Scott apologized. Stiles clicked at him playfully and nestled back down. He could hear Scott’s heartbeat now that the room was quiet. He could also hear the chirping of crickets outside. And an owl somewhere in the woods. This was beyond weird. Exhaustion finally settled over him and Stiles closed his eyes and let sleep take him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said this was going to get NSFW soon? 
> 
> Soon has come! This chapter is all kinds of NSFW (except for the fact that it's written, so you can totally read it at work if you want).
> 
> Anyway, this one got a bit out of hand, so it's pretty much twice as long as the other chapters have been, but I think it's worth it. 
> 
> I'm going to aim for posting every Wednesday at the very least. From what I can tell, I'll be posting more frequently than once a week, but if you need a specific date to look forward to, Wednesday it is. 
> 
> Thank you all again for the support and interest in this story. It's actually driven me to expand the initial idea a bit and I think it's going to turn out pretty long and somewhat intense. So you have that to look forward to! 
> 
> Let me know how you think this chapter went because your reactions will be the basis for any of the NSFW chapters coming up. I'm trying to keep it porn with (or at least within) the plot for the entire story.

Derek returned a couple of hours later, covered in dirt and sweat, but significantly calmer. He had run at least 20 miles around the perimeter of the Hale property and into the preserve where he may have caught and destroyed a few rabbits out of frustration. The scent of the intruder really was gone. He caught it near the house, where Scott had mentioned, and just like he said, the scent literally disappeared 100 yards away. It was as if the creature had just apparated to somewhere else. As much as he liked Harry Potter, and as ridiculous as his own supernatural existence was, he was still pretty sure apparation was not a real thing.

That was the most frustrating part. The fact that the creature had the nerve to bite someone from his pack, stalk his home, and then was able to just vanish without a trace. It wasn’t fair. And it still didn’t make sense.

He kicked his shoes off at the door and headed straight for the shower. He could hear the two heartbeats steadily thumping in his room, one slightly faster and softer. The sound was comforting. He may not have had any luck in finding whoever had done this to Stiles, but at least his semi-reluctant pack members were still safe, here. 

The thought stopped him for a moment. When had he started thinking of Stiles as pack? Scott was begrudgingly pack when it was needed, but he was a werewolf, so that only seemed natural to seek out a pack. Stiles was human. He didn’t need to be IN a pack. How had he so surreptitiously joined Derek’s without his knowledge?

As he peeled his filthy clothes off and turned on the shower, he tried to remember a specific turning point in their strained relationship. He stepped under the stream and let the water cascade down his sore muscles. He focused his hearing on the two heartbeats again, reassuring himself that they were fine. He halfheartedly soaped up his hair and tried remember when Stiles had become pack.

He’d definitely been a valuable ally at times. There had been the time when Stiles helped him when he was dying from a Wolfsbane bullet, but he hadn’t been pack then. He had then helped him figure out Peter was the alpha and even helped to take him down, more so than any of the wolves had managed actually. But Derek wasn’t sure if that was meant in solidarity or if it was more of a self defense situation. 

He watched the soap run down his arms as he rinsed his hair. Stiles had mainly been helpful, even if reluctantly, throughout their acquaintanceship. 

Then there was also the time he had told Allison to shoot Derek in the head when he and his pack had been trying to kill Lydia. Granted she was innocent and he was probably trying to protect her more so than kill Derek, but still, that was definitively a non-pack thing to do.

But then there was that two hour pool party they shared where Stiles was the only thing keeping him from drowning. That was still a bit confusing, if Derek was honest with himself. Stiles hadn’t been pack at that point, in fact he was quite vehemently against the pack at that point, and yet he had stayed for hours holding up a 200 pound paralyzed werewolf in eight feet of water. 

As Derek started to scrub the dirt from his skin, his traitorous mind flashed back to the feeling of Stiles’ lean hard body pressed along his entire side, his own head resting back on the smaller boy’s shoulder, Stiles’ surprisingly strong arm wrapped around his chest while water lapped at their faces. He felt a recently familiar tingling heat shoot through his abdomen at the memory. There had been multiple times that evening where Stiles had actually propped Derek on his knee, like a child, while he continued to struggle against the water. It hadn’t felt safe, necessarily, but it was almost comfortable, comforting even. That night was the first time anyone had touched him out of concern and caring since Laura’s death. Not even in a sexual way, just a comforting physical touch.

Derek leaned his head back into the spray of water and let out a long sigh as the warm tendrils washed away the frustrations of the evening. His memories chose to supply him with one final thought from that evening at the pool: Stiles’ leg subtly slipping between Derek’s thighs. It had ostensibly been an attempt to balance him easier, but had ended up as Stiles’ leg effectively grinding into Derek’s ass and almost massaging his balls, however briefly. It had only happened once and both parties had blushed furiously when it did, but the memory of it now had a heat unfurling in Derek’s stomach. 

Derek shook himself from that dangerous train of thought and leaned his head forward, letting the water pull the embarrassment from his shoulders. 

The embarrassment, nonetheless, flared right back up as he opened his eyes and took in the image of his own swelling erection. Why did this keep happening? 

He considered the risk of taking care of it in the traditional sense with two other were-creatures in the house with heightened smell and hearing or just willing it to go away like he had earlier that night. He was pretty sure Stiles’ senses weren’t quite under control yet and the water would be enough of a cover, but Scott had been honing his for a year now. It was nothing compared to a born wolf with over 20 years of practice, but it was probably enough. 

Although, a tiny conspiratorial voice reminded him, based on the heartbeats he heard earlier, Scott was asleep. As long as he stayed quiet and kept his own heartbeat under control, he could probably get away with this. 

He couldn’t pretend that this wasn’t a nearly miraculous occasion since he had barely even had an erection since Kate. If he had taken anything away from his experience with Her, it was that his looks and sexuality could easily be his biggest weakness. The knowledge had haunted him for years, and so his body had become pretty much celibate, partially against his will, but he thought it was for the best, so he never fought it. 

Seeing his body showing signs of life now, of all times, was frankly shocking, bordering on frightening. He had ignored any flairs of passion since Her. He wouldn’t let his stupid, childish libido hurt people again. He had fought off the urges for so long that eventually they stopped happening. By the time he had finally started to heal some and thought he might try to move on, it was like his sex drive had gone on permanent vacation. He hadn’t been hard in years. And yet here he was, twice in the span of a few hours, sporting a pretty substantial hard-on.

He shook out a sigh as his resolve completely crumbled.

It had been so long since he had even held himself in his hands, he felt like he couldn’t pass up the opportunity. He knew his pack was well versed in self-love; he was surrounded by the smells of adolescent lust and spunk every day. He supposed that was inevitable with a mainly teenaged pack, but it had never affected him really, it was just a part of being in a pack of teenagers. He suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for his entire family for those first few years of he and Laura’s adolescence where neither of them could control their urges and often ended up leaving their showers smelling more like bliss and arousal than soap. He used to find the scent enticing. Even though they were siblings, arousal still smelled like arousal. It used to be enough to set him off if he happened to shower right after Laura had. 

But now, the smell of his own arousal, his own precome, his own scent invading the humid air around him, was torture. One hand slowly fluttered down his chest, still unsure whether this was a wise decision. Actually, he knew it was a poor decision, but his body didn’t seem to care enough to stop. He sighed long and low as he gently wrapped a hand around himself, stroking downward experimentally. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how to do this, but it had been so long he couldn’t remember what he might have liked in the past. Either way, the simple contact was hypnotic enough. The warm water sluiced down over his hand, rivulets running over and under the shaft to tease at his scrotum. His hand moved slightly faster, reveling in the feel of his erection getting even heavier. He shuddered out a breath as a particularly sharp tug sent a spark of pain mixed with undeniable pleasure flying through his body. He tried not to think too hard about what it meant that pain seemed to increase his pleasure. 

His heart began to race and he froze, one hand still wrapped around himself, the other blocking the stream of water so he could focus his hearing on the heartbeats down the hall. He still heard two steady pulses, one slightly quicker. He let out the cautious breath he had been holding. 

As his heart rate slowed to an even pace again, his hand picked up its movement. He twisted his wrist slowly as he stroked himself from base to tip, letting his thumb caress the head as it passed. A shaky breath escaped his lips and he bit back on a moan before he could make too much noise. He thought back to earlier that evening, to Stiles nuzzling down into his crotch, breathing in the scent of him. He remembered the nearly pornographic moan that had escaped the boy’s lips. A shiver ran through him and he felt his balls tightening at the sensation. He reached his other hand down to cup them, rolling them gently in his fingers. His breath punched out of him and his hips gave an involuntary thrust forward into his hand at the sensation, sending a stream of precome shooting across the floor of the shower. 

The heat pooling in his abdomen, mixed with the humidity of the shower was making him dizzy. His own arousal and scent permeated every bead of water in the air, surrounding him with a steam of his own musk. He thought of Stiles licking his way up his neck, sinking his teeth into the muscle there, laving at the blood with his wicked tongue, mouthing at the bite with those ridiculous lips. His hand started moving faster, almost of its own accord, stripping his cock in desperate strokes. He imagined Stiles mouth sucking marks down his body, biting his way up the inside of thighs, taking his sac into his mouth and attacking it with his tongue. 

His breathing became shallow, each breath more painful and necessary than the last. The gentle massaging of his balls turned more frantic, adding a slight twinge of pain to the intense sensations sparking through his body. He felt the muscles in his stomach, back, and thighs twitching with exertion and anticipation. His breath started coming in ragged pants as his heartbeat pounded too fast, beyond his control. He had never felt so tightly wound in his life. Every muscle in his body seemed to be clenching at once. But the prospect of blessed release was too promising to stop now. Stiles’ vicious dark eyes flashed through his mind before they burned a bright amber and his wolf howled in delight. He shook the thought from his mind. This wasn’t about Stiles. He kept the mantra running in his mind as his hand worked over himself. He could feel his orgasm building in his tightening sac as his fingers kneaded the tender flesh relentlessly.

The showerhead streamed tiny warm tendrils of water over him, teasing down his back, over his shoulders, tickling across his chest. A wayward rivulet lazily licked down his spine and over his tailbone, running gently though the cleft of his cheeks, giving Derek a new idea. He released his over sensitized balls and slowly reached behind himself. A single finger trailed down his cleft and prodded gently at his hole. The water followed as his other fingers propped his cheeks open, dancing across the puckered muscle, causing it to twitch ever so slightly. He massaged at the opening gently, feeling the muscle flutter as rubbed his fingertip across it. 

He suddenly remembered the first time he’d tried this, in this very room; the thrill of doing something so taboo, the anxiety over whether it would hurt, followed by the gnawing panic at what it meant that he had enjoyed it so much after. (He hadn’t really given that much thought since then.) 

He tightened his grip on his pulsing cock and jerked his hand forward and back, twisting his wrist and fondling his foreskin. He felt the first barrier break within him as his orgasm nearly boiled over. He was so close now. He inhaled sharply, lungs filling with the humid air laced with his scent. As he hissed the breath out slowly, his finger pushed firmly against the ring of muscle between his cheeks and slipped inside. His hips jumped at the intrusion and thrust forward violently. He could feel the orgasm coming. He pushed his finger in further, wiggling it a little experimentally. It didn’t send sparks shooting through his body like he remembered, but it felt oddly soothing. 

Suddenly he pictured Stiles, kneeling behind him, digging his fingertips into Derek’s cheeks as he spread them firmly apart. He imagined Stiles’ tongue, wiggling into him, prying him open with thick, hot thrusts. Fire burned through Derek’s veins, carrying the pleasure and need throughout his body. His other hand worked his dick furiously, trying to wring the orgasm from it. He began thrusting his finger in and out of his own hole in time with his quickening strokes. The soft flesh clung to him greedily. Pressure coiled in his balls until he thought he was going to fly apart at the seams. 

Just as he could feel his orgasm preparing to burst, his ears picked up on that faint, quick heartbeat and, with a sense of dread, realized it was now much closer. A sharp, ragged breath ripped from his lungs. Shivers ran down his entire body. His hand gripped tighter. It was too late to stop. His strokes quickened and became more erratic. With Stiles’ heartbeat in his ears, he pictured the boy twisting two fingers into him, stretching him open, while tacking his cock into his mouth. He was too close. He imagined Stiles swallowing him down until he choked, too eager to give himself time to adjust to Derek’s girth, but kept sucking at him like his life depended on it. Derek was too tightly wound. His hole clenched at his finger, drawing it further inside, trying to pull it towards that one blindingly delicious spot he knew was buried there. He needed release. He pictured Stiles licking at the slit of his cock, sucking the foreskin into his mouth, just to drive Derek crazy. He breathed in deeply, the heady scent of his own arousal still dizzying in the humid air. But now, just beneath it, he caught the hybrid scent of anxiety/sweat/arousal and honeysuckle (with its newly added burnt edge) that could only mean Stiles. His fingers worked furiously where they wrapped around him, and opened him up. The taste of Stiles’ scent landed on the back of his tongue and filled his senses. He imagined Stiles wrapping those ridiculously long fingers around Derek’s cock and pulling the orgasm from him while pressing Derek’s face into the pillows and slamming into him from behind with reckless abandon. Taking everything he could ever want from him. 

He bit down on his lip, teeth breaking clear through the skin, to keep from screaming as his orgasm exploded from him. His hole swallowed his finger to the base, pulling it across that blessed spot to fire sparks through his body. His balls finally released their load, his hips and cock twitching, spunk shooting across the shower to drip slowly down the tiles. 

The muscles in his legs and abdomen clenched violently from exertion and his arms ached. He slowly stroked himself through the end of his orgasm and his finger slipped out from between his cheeks. 

He could feel the flush spreading across his chest and face, pinking up his ears as embarrassment bled through the calming effects of his release. He stood there, frozen under the stream of water, letting his dick fall flaccid, afraid to move or think about the fact that he could hear Stiles’ heart beating from inside the bathroom. The water turned icy too quickly and he was forced to shut it off and face the boy. 

The steam had cleared for the most part, but he could still smell his own lust, now mixed with semen, and shame. He closed his eyes, steeled his nerve, and pulled the shower curtain back in a single snap, expecting there to be a disgruntled Stiles glaring at him from the doorway. A slow breath seeped out of him as he opened his eyes only to blink them rapidly in confusion. Stiles wasn’t in the doorway. In fact, he couldn’t see any trace of Stiles. Had he somehow imagined his presence? What did that say about his subconscious if he had?

He listened closely and picked up on the faint heartbeat once more. It was muffled now, but it still had to be closer than the bedroom. He grabbed a towel off the rack and wrapped it around himself as he stepped out into the room. The only other thing inside it was his pile of clothes…which was breathing. 

Derek leaned down to examine the pile. He gently pulled back the edge of a shirt to reveal a bushy red tail curled around two soft black paws. Apparently the fox, who had marked him as family, smelled him when he got back and decided to come say hi. Derek sighed to himself in relief. Stiles appeared to be asleep. Maybe he had somehow missed Derek’s earlier, embarrassing performance. At least Stiles would never know who, or what, he had been thinking about mid-show.

He plodded to his room to pull on his favorite plaid pajama pants, careful not to wake Scott as he dug through his dresser. He doubted if Scott or Stiles would believe these were actually his; they didn’t seem to think he enjoyed comfortable things. Derek would admit that most of the time he chose function over form, but when it came to sleep, he wanted to be comfortable. He had seen this plaid pair tucked underneath all the dark blues and grays at the store and he just had to have it. They had quickly become his favorite pair once he realized how incredibly soft the material was. He vetoed wearing a shirt since it was still warm enough outside and he already ran warmer than most. He was also still a little warm from his ‘extra curricular’ activities. As he turned to head back to collect his dirty clothes, he was stopped in his tracks by Stiles sitting in his doorway, dirty clothes hanging out of one side of his mouth. 

“Oh,” he whispered, “Thanks. I…uh…take it you haven’t figured out how to turn back yet?” 

Stiles just looked at him, unamused, and spat the clothes onto the floor before letting out a surprisingly sarcastic bark. At that, Scott startled awake, letting a moment of panic wash over him as he took in the empty bed. His panic quickly turned to confusion when he glanced over to see Derek standing there half naked scowling at Stiles, who was sitting in a pile of dirty clothes in the doorway. 

“Uh, did I miss something?” Scott asked cautiously. 

Stiles simply clicked at Derek before prancing over and gracefully leaping up onto the bed. Apparently he was getting used to his furry body. Derek watched the new precision Stiles’ movements carried and wondered how that would transfer to his human state, which was still…uncoordinated to say the least. Scott looked between them for a moment, one eyebrow raised so high it was in danger of morphing into his hairline. He shook himself lightly before speaking again.

“Whatever, dude,” he directed at Derek. His attention then turned to where Stiles was curling up in a ball of sheets. “Sorry bro. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I guess I’m not such a good guard, huh?” He scratched behind Stiles ears until his tail began to twitch happily. He assumed that meant he was forgiven. 

“What time is it?” he asked in Derek’s direction, too amused by Stiles fluffy tail to look away fully. Derek tore his own eyes away long enough to pull the phone from his dirty pants’ pocket. 

“It’s just after 2 am,” he announced. 

“Crap! Really?!” Scott jumped from the bed. He threw an apologetic look towards Stiles who had been jostled by the movement. “Sorry man, I told my mom I’d be home by midnight. She was working the late evening shift, so she shouldn’t be home for another half hour, but she’ll kill me if I’m not there. You gonna be okay here?” he asked, “With him?,” he added, nodding nervously towards Derek.

Derek tried not to take offense, which actually turned out to be pretty easy considering he was still rather loosened up from his shower. Stiles just yipped cheerfully and pointed his nose between Scott and the door in a clear dismissal.   
Scott ran over to ruffle his fur one more time before bouncing towards the door. 

“Love you, bro,” he tossed over his shoulder as he jumped down the stairs. After the thud of him landing, his voice floated back up the stairs, “I’ll be back in the morning.” And then, with the slam of the front door, he was gone. 

Derek remained where he was, standing awkwardly in the corner of his own bedroom. He watched as Stiles pulled the sheets back into a pile with his teeth and pushed them into a makeshift nest with his paws and snout. Once he had a satisfactory pile he plopped his butt down in the center of it and stared at Derek expectantly. Derek wasn’t sure what he was meant to do. Did he need water or something? Did he expect to be tucked in? He hadn’t spent much time with fox Stiles, so he couldn’t get a clear read on his body language. So he stayed where he was, looking slightly panicked and more than a little confused. 

Stiles rolled his eyes and sauntered to the edge of the bed where he jumped down gracefully and walked right up to Derek. He reached out and grabbed one pant leg in his jaws and pulled it towards the bed. Apparently Derek was meant to take Scott’s place. After the way Stiles woke up earlier and the embarrassment of Derek’s shower, he couldn’t imagine how Stiles was ok with them being in a bed together. Not that anything was going to happen, but still. He followed reluctantly after Stiles gave another sharp tug. When they got to the edge of the bed, Stiles released Derek’s pant leg, hopped up onto the mattress and immediately turned around to make sure Derek was following. Derek was still cautious and confused, so he stood a moment longer debating his next course of action.

Stiles watched his internal debate with apprehension, tail hanging limply and flicking anxiously, ears folding out sideways as he lowered his head. He looked pathetically sad, even to Derek. Which is why Derek just sighed dramatically and crawled into his own bed, curling onto his side, facing away from Stiles to give him some semblance of privacy. He felt Stiles’ soft footfalls as the fox padded back up the bed. 

He assumed Stiles would curl back up into his blanket nest and go to sleep. But instead, Stiles grabbed the sheet in his teeth and pulled it towards Derek’s prone form. He reared up on his back legs and prodded Derek’s side with his front paws, careful to use the pads of his feet and not his claws. Derek rolled onto his back begrudgingly, wondering what on earth Stiles could need from him now only to be shocked as Stiles climbed up onto his stomach and dragged the sheet with him. He picked up the edge again and pulled until the sheet was completely covering Derek’s legs and abdomen and proceeded to curl up underneath it, directly on Derek’s bare stomach. 

Again Derek wasn’t sure home much of his behavior was Stiles decision and how much was fox instinct, but either way it took him a few moments to settle down enough to even attempt to evaluate the situation. Stiles seemed content, curled into a ball with his soft bushy tail tucked under his head. It tickled Derek’s stomach with every inhalation. His claws were safely out of the way. There were no boney joints digging into him. In fact Stiles felt just like a big cat, gently curled onto his stomach. He supposed that would be fine. 

That is until Stiles let out a long sigh that tickled far too much to be normal and he realized that Stiles’ nose was buried not only in his own tail, but also Derek’s happy trail. With that realization came the involuntary flex of his abdomen and the death grip of his own claws in his sheets. He was comfortably relaxed from his alone time, but he wasn’t sure how he was going to survive a night with Stiles teasing breath tickling down his stomach. 

Stiles seemed to recognize Derek’s discomfort through the quick burst of arousal that had hit his nose and lifted his head to find its source. Derek just closed his eyes and tried to breathe. Stiles whuffed a laugh to himself before licking teasingly at Derek’s trail and shifting his head further to the left so he would be breathing over Derek’s side instead. 

Derek exhaled slowly, releasing his crumpled sheets and letting his muscles go slack. He reached up with one hand and twined his fingers into the fur on the back of Stiles’ neck. He scratched lazily for a moment before flicking Stiles ear sharply. 

Stiles yipped loudly and Derek could see the sheet moving as if he had turned to glare at him.

“You know what that was for,” Derek whispered before resuming his petting. “Goodnight, Stiles.”

Stiles whipped his head around to nip at Derek’s hand once before settling back down into his tail and drifting off to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I haven't scared you off yet, here's a relatively short fun chapter. It's going to start getting a bit more dramatic/suspenseful soon, so I wanted to give you a bit of a pause before that happens. I'm trying to balance fun with drama. I can't take too much drama at once. Besides, these characters are pretty funny, so it seems wrong not to let them have fun every so often. 
> 
> Thank you again for all the support and for reading! I hope you continue to enjoy. And if not, that's cool too. To each their own.

Derek was woken by the soft sound of muffled giggles and someone violently coughing. He heard someone sharply slap whoever was coughing on the back, until there was a squeal of surprise and the coughing stopped. He recognized the voices easily enough, but it was the scent of his pack wafting through the cracks under his bedroom door that reassured him enough to allow himself a couple more moments of peace before he opened his eyes. He could tell it was well into daylight based on the light bleeding through his closed eyelids and it vaguely struck him as odd that the three teenagers managed to arrive at his house before he had woken up for the day. Typically he was up for a few hours before they stumbled in bleary eyed and clutching coffee cups like they were the only things keeping them upright. Either they hadn’t slept all night or he had been too tired and comfortable and slept in far past his usual wakeup time.

He lay still a moment longer, ignoring the muttering outside his door and still refusing to open his eyes; he couldn’t remember that last time he had slept so soundly. It took him another moment of casually listening to the sounds reverberating around his house to remember that he was not the only one in his room. It looked like his “me time” was up. He breathed in deeply, preparing himself for the onslaught of sunlight that was about to attack his pupils, and was bombarded with the strong scent of honeysuckle. 

Stiles.

Now mildly more awake, Derek could feel the comforting heat of him spread across his stomach, his shallow breaths tickling across his skin. He flexed his fingers and realized his hand was still curled into Stiles’ soft fur. It felt smoother than he thought it should, but just as soft as he remembered. Derek huffed out a sigh as the events of the previous night came flooding back to the front of his mind. He could hear Stiles’ steady heartbeat thumping along quietly and allowed himself a moment to just listen to the soothing cadence of it. He soothed his hand down Stiles’ fur lazily, scratching lightly as he got to his neck, but rather than feeling more soft fluffy fur under his fingertips, he now felt smooth, soft skin. 

Derek froze, mind bolting awake in an instant. He lifted his hand away slowly and finally pried his eyes open, casting a nervous glance down his body. He hissed in a shallow breath at the sight of Stiles broad, pale, freckled shoulders draped over his hips. One arm was tucked under him while the other was thrown carelessly between Derek’s thighs. His gaze travelled further down, following the gentle curve of Stiles bare back to the minor swell of his ass, which was tucked closely into Derek’s leg. Stiles’ long legs seemed to curl over, under, and around Derek’s, effectively trapping the man in his own bed. His gaze made its way back to his stomach where he could just see the top of Stiles’ head, nestled right where it had started the night before, directly above the drawstring of his favorite pajama pants, which he then noticed were more than a little tented. 

Seriously? This was getting ridiculous. Nothing for years, and now every small breeze seemed to set him off. He dug his claws into his palms, breathing through the sharp pain, begging the blood to drain from his groin and flow to the wounds he was opening. Stiles was going to be embarrassed enough to wake up naked in a house full of his peers, he didn’t need to wake up to the sight of Derek’s dick in his face. Derek could feel the blood pooling in his hands and hoped it would work quickly to settle him down. 

However, because Derek’s life has never been fair, Stiles began to stir awake at exactly that moment. Derek panicked, trying to figure out the best way to diffuse the situation. In the end, he opted for feigning sleep in the hopes that Stiles would just get up and get dressed before he would feel the need to talk to Derek. He slammed his eyes shut and let his hands drop to his chest, hoping the blood he had drawn wasn’t showing. He concentrated on slowing his heart rate back down as he felt Stiles take in a wide yawn, only to blow the air directly across Derek’s morning wood. He felt Stiles’ eyelashes flutter over his stomach as the boy blinked into wakefulness. 

Nothing happened for a moment and Derek forced himself to keep breathing. Stiles didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He didn’t stretch. He didn’t even breathe. Derek felt the boy’s shoulders start to shake.

“Well good morning to you too,” he huffed out on a laugh. Derek heard another giggle from outside of the room. Suddenly, the shaking stopped and Stiles froze in place, either startled by the sound of someone else in the house or at hearing his human voice again, Derek wasn’t sure. He could feel both of their heartbeats picking up speed. Stiles slowly lifted one hand to examine it and let out a sob of relief. 

“Oh thank god,” he exhaled. “I thought I was gonna be a fox forever.” He began to wiggle in delight, almost as if he was wagging an invisible tail. (Maybe he had been in fox form a little too long.) The movement pushed his hips even further into Derek’s leg until he could feel something pressing against him that was definitely not either of Stiles’ legs.

Well, that evened the playing field a bit. Derek took the opportunity to clear his throat and remind Stiles that he was currently wrapped around an actual person. Stiles let out a yelp of surprise, which sounded just slightly more animal than it ever had before, before throwing himself backwards and away from Derek’s side. His legs, however, were still completely tangled in Derek’s and he ended up dragging Derek’s pants further down his hips as he struggled to pull away until Derek was nearly as naked as Stiles. 

Stiles eyes roved over their entwined bodies and let out a squeak of embarrassment at the sight of Derek’s half erection. Derek simply sighed in resignation. He supposed the playing field was now completely even nudity-wise. Although, he hadn’t actually gotten a look at Stiles’ equipment. 

Fair is fair, he thought as he pushed himself up into a seated position and glanced down at the boy tangled in his legs. He was actually quite surprised by the heft of Stiles’ penis. The boy always looked so lanky that the weight between his legs seemed disproportionate. At that was at half-mast, so to speak. He casually wondered exactly how big Stiles was and how his own might stack up in comparison. Derek blushed slightly and turned his attention to the tangle of legs and started extracting his. 

Stiles eyes flicked between Derek’s stubbornly blank face and his naked crotch a number of times before Derek turned a glare at him. Stiles face lit up with color and he jerked his head away, throwing his hands over his lap to conceal his own minor erection. He coughed lightly and stammered for something to say while Derek pulled his legs free. 

“So,” he started in an attempt at a conversational tone, “I take it you are not circumcised.” Derek heard three distinct voices break down into giggles in the hallway. Stiles carried on as if he hadn’t noticed. Perhaps he hadn’t. 

“You know doctors still aren’t really sure which side of the circumcision debate is right. One side says that an uncircumcised penis is more prone to infection and, well I guess that’s not really a concern for you, being a werewolf and all, so that argument just kinda fell right out the window. And hey, the other side of the debate says there’s a lot of benefit to keeping the foreskin, like it’s supposed to make sex better because you can feel more,” another set of giggles broke out in the hall, “or your penis is more sensitive because the head isn’t always exposed, so it doesn’t get desensitized from wearing, like, underwear and pants and all which kinda scrape against your junk all the time, and I can attest to the fact that you do notice it, even after your head is desensitized to it,” a couple noises of confirmation come from the other side of the door, “especially if you wear really tight denim, which it kind of seems like you tend to do, whether purposefully or not, but I know if I had a body like yours, I’d probably be wearing the tightest shit I could find so I could show it off...” Stiles finally finished his rambling as a chorus of raucous laughter erupted in the hallway.

“Woah! Who else is here,” he demanded, “Dude, I don’t have any clothes on! Why didn’t you tell me someone was here?” He jumped up from the bed and darted around the room looking for the bag of clothes Scott had left for him. Derek couldn’t figure out why it was perfectly okay for Stiles to sit next to him, naked, on a bed, and discuss circumcision, but he couldn’t be naked in a closed room while other people were in the house. He figured it wasn’t worth questioning and got up to help Stiles look for his clothes. 

He found the ripped and dirty pile from the night before, but he couldn’t find the bag Scott had brought back. Suddenly, he noticed the sound of a plastic bag crinkling in the hallway, followed by shushing and scampering feet running down the stairs. Derek rolled his eyes so hard that his shoulders even got in on the action. He grabbed the sheet from the bed and tossed it at Stiles.

“Cover yourself up. I think we have a thief in the house,” Derek said. He then raised his voice slightly and aimed it towards the doorway, “And she’s about to get her ass beaten if she doesn’t bring back the clothes right now.”

Stiles focused his hearing as much as he could. Once he had woken up, the shock of being human again had dulled his senses. But now he could hear the two steady heartbeats waiting downstairs. The third seemed to be fluttering in excitement. He listened closer and heard the bag of clothes crinkling. Then a female voice called up the stairs, “Promises, promises, Der-bear. You know you can’t win by flirting. You’ll just have to come get me. Or you could send Stiles out. If he gives me one good, long, look at him without his clothes on, I’d be happy to return them to him.” 

Stiles chuckled a little at the nickname, but he fell silent at the low growl resonating through Derek’s chest. He could see Derek’s jaw flexing as his fangs grew in and his eyes burned red. 

“You better hope you’re as fast as you think you are,” he growled out, still aiming at the door, “because if I catch you, you won’t heal for a week.” He then let out a roar that put Scott’s to shame and dashed through the door, launching himself over the banister and down the stairs in the blink of an eye. 

Stiles felt all the hair on his body stand up on end as Derek bolted from the room. He didn’t think Derek would actually hurt Erica, but he sure sounded like he would. He heard a squeal of surprise and then soft footsteps running from the house, followed by thunderous footsteps and a howl. 

Stiles wanted to run downstairs to make sure Erica was okay, but he was standing there clutching a sheet to himself like the cover of a romance novel. At least his morning wood had sufficiently gone down at the sight of a very angry alpha werewolf storming off on the hunt. 

He stood for a moment, straining his ears, listening for signs of a struggle. He caught glimpses of things but he couldn’t pinpoint anything for a moment. He heard a bird singing off in the distance. He heard Boyd and Isaac chuckling quietly downstairs. He heard a car with terrible sub woofers driving by on the road to the preserve. He heard Erica squeal with delight as a growling mass chased after her. He would swear he even heard a snort of laughter coming from a rather grumpy werewolf who happened to be chasing one of his betas at the moment. Clearly this was something they did pretty often. He smiled at the thought of the wolves playing tag like this when no one was around. The thought of Derek doing something so silly just for fun was almost laughable. And yet, there he was, playfully chasing Erica through the woods. Stiles tried to follow the sounds of their chase, but they were getting too far away.

Suddenly a gunshot rang out from the woods and Stiles head shot towards the window. He heard footsteps scrambling through the woods, footsteps that sounded like they were right outside the house.

Stiles jumped to the window and scanned the tree line, seeing distances he shouldn’t have been able to. His eyes seemed to narrow in on spots on their own, as if following some kind of hidden grid. As they narrowed in on a plot of trees at the northeast corner of the house, he caught sight of movement. Something small. 

And orange.

Like a fox.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we get some action! Time to confront our foxy fiend. 
> 
> You guys have been awesome and I feel bad for making you wait at all, so here's another chapter!

Stiles ran from the window and dug through Derek’s dresser, throwing on a pair of boxers before sprinting out of the room and down the stairs. He briefly noticed Isaac and Boyd attempting to greet him, but he was out the front door and rushing toward the northwest corner of the clearing before they got a chance. 

He could feel his muscles stretching and pulling with a kind of fluidity he had never experienced before. He rounded the house in a turn too sharp to be possible, but he didn’t have time to marvel at it. As he neared the edge of the clearing the orange blur burst through the tree line and dashed to the opposite side of the house. Stiles felt a burst of adrenaline as his toes dug into the soft ground and he sprinted across the clearing. His eyes were locked on the orange blur ahead of him as it scrambled back into the underbrush. He was sure it was the same fox that bit him. Stiles could hear Isaac and Boyd following him, but they weren’t as quick on the turns. He heard Isaac let out a yelp as he slid around the corner, tumbling across the ground. Boyd must have pulled him up as he ran by because the two were quickly catching up to Stiles.

Suddenly fear flooded Stiles system as his animal instincts kicked in. There were two werewolves chasing him. And they were gaining. 

Adrenaline rushed through his body, his flight reflex fully taking over as he leapt through the underbrush. His heart pounded in his ears with every step. His lungs screamed for more air. He kept his hearing trained on the wolves behind him, listening as they crashed through the trees. His eyes however, stayed locked on the blur darting in and out of the underbrush, tracking its every move, thrilled that he was able to replicate each one as he gave chase. He could hear the wolves tripping over the branches and roots he was deftly vaulting over. He was finally gaining on the creature ahead of him when he heard a snarl rip through the trees abruptly. 

Stiles slowed slightly, just in time to see Derek bursting through the trees in front of him wearing nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants. Derek threw a quick glance in Stiles’ direction before turning and tearing after the fox. Stiles flight instincts told him to run. There were now two betas and an alpha werewolf in the area. But Stiles knew they were friends. They were pack; he didn’t need to be scared. He breathed deeply, scenting the air, catching the piney, smoky scent that said home. This was Derek. He was safe. He would protect Stiles. 

He urged his legs to push forward and took off into the woods once more. He could still hear Isaac and Boyd cursing as tiny branches whipped at them where they tried to follow Stiles’ path too closely. He forced himself to focus forward, to find Derek. A spontaneous burst of speed and a cumbersome patch of tree roots that he managed to navigate effortlessly meant he was soon running beside Derek. He glanced over at his alpha and felt a thrill run through him at the determination blazing from his red eyes. Stiles’ vision turned amber as he zeroed back in on the fox. It felt right to be running with Derek, to be hunting with his alpha. 

The pair hurtled through the tree line as the fox bolted into a small clearing. Derek dashed forward, practically nipping at the fox’s heels. But Stiles veered off and darted ahead, sticking to the edges of the clearing. As he got halfway around, he heard a rustling in the trees ahead and stopped just in time to see Erica stalk out of the trees, features shifted, and hair filled with dirt and twigs. Apparently having gorgeous long blond hair was not conducive to running through the woods. Her jacket sleeve was ripped almost completely off and her tights had large tears along her calves. There was dried blood running down the side of her face, but her lips were pulled back, bearing her teeth in a feral smile. 

The fox skidded to halt almost in the dead center of the clearing, hackles raised, teeth bared, hissing at the wolves surrounding him. Derek slowed to a walk and stalked forward. Boyd and Isaac climbed into the clearing, flanking out to either side of Derek, effectually surrounding the fox. 

Stiles stayed on the outskirts, making his way around the clearing. He couldn’t tell what was directing him, but something in him was telling him to keep moving, that this wasn’t yet the spot to take his stand. Derek began circling the trapped animal, snarling at it, and snapping his jaws. 

“Who are you,” he demanded, voice barely recognizable as human. The fox did nothing in reaction to Derek’s words. It simply scanned the clearing looking for an escape. 

“What are you doing here?” Derek tried again, letting the wolf slip into his voice. The fox turned to him then, hissing a challenge. 

Stiles stopped moving and sucked in a shocked breath. He swore he could almost understand what the fox was saying. Derek looked up at Stiles sudden inhalation. His entire body was tensed, ready to spring forward. He crouched down, fingers digging into the dirt. His vision had gone amber colored again and all of his senses were focused solely on the fox in the center of the clearing. He could feel the fox’s heartbeat fluttering in its chest, could smell the burnt odor coming from the creature, the odor that he now shared. 

Stiles crawled forward, eyes glued to the fox. Derek watched him move, his wolf screaming out in approval at the unwavering rage on Stiles face as he stalked his prey. Stiles looked possessed. There was a determination in his eyes that Derek had never imagined possible. Despite the fact that they were glowing amber, they looked completely dark. His usually perplexed and open brow had flattened into a solid line, throwing shadows over his typically bright eyes. His perpetually open mouth was now set in a sneer, lips quirked up to one side, so his teeth were just visible enough to show a flash of fang. His shoulders were set low and straight, emphasizing how broad he had become. Dirt and small cuts from the forest littered his arms and legs, but he didn’t seem to care at all. Even in nothing but boxers, he was menacing. As he stalked closer the other wolves began to take notice too. Derek could feel their apprehension growing in the presence of this newer, more vicious Stiles. He could see the confusion in their eyes. Why was Stiles stepping up to this creature? Why was Derek letting him? They didn’t even know that Stiles had been bitten. Though they must have figured out something had changed by now; this was not the Stiles they knew. The betas took their cue from Derek, standing back and watching Stiles carefully, ready to jump in if need be.

Stiles crept forward until he was within spitting distance of the fox. The voice in his head confirmed this was the moment to strike; this was his chance to catch his prey. He crouched down once more, feeling the tension in his legs as he prepared to lunge. He was completely still for a moment before he suddenly sprang forward, leaping up higher than he ever thought possible. His arms reached forward, aiming directly for the fox as he hurtled back down. It was a less than human display, but he could feel the muscles in his legs stretching and flexing and he reveled in the feeling. His senses were fixed on the fox as he came crashing down onto it, hands pinning it onto its back. 

The wolves in the clearing stepped closer, surrounding him, supporting him from a distance. He could feel the waves of anxiety ricocheting off of them. He had no idea what he looked like right now, but it must have been impressive to elicit such a reaction from a pack of werewolves. And to think he was pretty much naked at the moment. 

The fox in his grip pulled him from his thoughts, throwing its head forward, jaws snapping, hissing in warning. Stiles stared down into its eyes daring it to struggle more. His lips fell open into a snarl. 

“Tell me what you’re doing here and why you bit me,” he threatened, fangs causing him to lisp ever so slightly, “or I will tear you limb from limb and feed you to my friends here. I’m sure fox would be like a delicacy to them, since they don’t get to hunt much.” He had no idea if the wolves actually hunted, but the threat sounded good, so he went with it. Thankfully they all played along, licking salaciously at their lips.

The fox glared up at him, snapping its jaws shut defiantly. Derek growled from somewhere behind Stiles, but he didn’t care. Growling wasn’t going to intimidate this fox. His vision narrowed down to a single amber point. Stiles looked down to see that his claws had decided to come out and play, just as he had expected. His arm shot forward and grabbed the fox by the throat, lifting it into the air so its paws were left flailing for purchase of some sort. He let his claws dig in just enough to hear to fox yelp from the pain. Stiles stood to his full height then, still dangling the fox by the throat, its tail thrashing below it.

“One more chance,” Stiles hissed out. “Why are you here and why did you bite me?”

The fox chattered brokenly through Stiles’ grip on his throat. Isaac stepped up and reached a cautious hand towards Stiles shoulder. Stiles shot a glare at him that stopped him in his tracks. The boy shrank back, pulling his hand in towards his chest.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to understand him like that. He can’t breathe,” Isaac rationalized. Stiles glared back at the fox that almost seemed to be turning a bit blue in the face, even through the fur. He breathed out a sigh, centering his anger and slowly knelt back down, lowering the fox back to the ground. Before he released its throat, his other hand reached out and gripped the fox’s back leg tightly. He twisted his wrist harshly until he heard the bone snap in two. 

A scream echoed through the clearing, ripped from the foxes mouth. Gasps surrounded Stiles from all directions. Each of the betas took a step back, unsure of where Stiles might turn his rage next, and unwilling to tempt fate. But Derek stepped forward, trying to scent Stiles, to figure out what was going on in his mind. This was too vicious. Stiles may wish injury on people left and right, but he wasn’t one to actually hurt someone. Not like this.

Stiles face remained blank as he glared down at the now injured fox. 

“Last chance,” he said brightly, “Why are you here? And why did you bite me?”

The fox looked back at him with terror in its eyes. It whined softly at the pain in its leg, trying to turn to see it, but Stiles gripped its head and forced it to look at him.

“It’ll heal,” he roared, “Tell me why you’re here!” The anger in Stiles’ voice had the betas backing up another step. 

Derek stepped forward again, reaching a hand out to grasp Stiles shoulder. Stiles’ attention never left the fox, but he quickly shook Derek’s hand off. Derek knew Stiles was reaching into some buried instinct to hunt and torment and kill. He also knew that they needed this fox alive. He let his claws recede and gently twisted his fingers into Stiles’ hair. The boy bristled at first, but quickly nuzzled into the touch as Derek’s fingers began to scratch. Derek could feel the rage seeping out of him. Stiles leaned his head back to look at Derek and blinked at him slowly in thanks. He turned his attention back to the fox once more. Much calmer now, he asked one more time about the fox’s motives. 

The fox whined once more before chattering softly, head bowed. Stiles listened to the chatter closely, letting his ears focus as they chose. To his human mind, it sounded like clicking and yelping. But in his fox mind, he was able to separate some words. 

Hiding. Danger. Hunted. Protect. 

Stiles looked down in shock and guilt at the injured fox in his grasp. It was being hunted and it needed protection. And Stiles had trapped it, crush its thoat, and broken its leg. He released the animal and deflated at the realization of what he’d done. 

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, “I didn…I didn’t know. We can help you.”

The wolves perked up at the offer and looked at Stiles curiously. Derek slid his hand down to grip Stiles’ shoulder. The boy turned up to look at him. He realized that none of them were able to understand the fox, so it looked to them like he had just offered protection to an animal he was moments away from killing with his bare hands. He turned to explain.

“It’s being hunted. It says there’s danger and it was trying to hide. It needs protection,” Stiles relays. The fox started to chatter frantically at Stiles’ words, dragging itself towards his knees. Its chatter took on a pattern as if it was repeating something over and over. Stiles closed his eyes and listened closely. He could still hear ‘protect’, but there was something else after it. He wanted to shut down his human instincts for a moment so he could focus better, but he didn’t know how. He had only had two separate instinctual minds for about 12 hours, so he didn’t really have a good handle on how to manipulate them. The fox continued to chatter, repeating the chatter phrase over.

As the fox continued, dark clouds began to roll across the sky, cutting off the light in the clearing. Wind whipped through the clearing, pulling the leaves off of the trees and funneling back into the clouds. A howling roar seemed to follow it, filling the air with so much noise that the wolves were essentially deafened. This was not a natural storm. It smelled wrong. A static charge seemed to be filling the space, bouncing off the trees, gathering energy, until a burning smell filled the area; a smell that only Derek knew to associate with magic users. 

The wolves gathered closer to Stiles again, building a barrier around him and the fox. The wind whirled around them, pulling at their hair and clothes, biting coldly at their skin. The fox continued to chatter over the growling wind, repeating the phrase, picking up a steady cadence. Stiles focused as hard as he could, trying to ignore the burning smell invading his nose. All of his hair was standing on end and he could actually feel the electricity flowing through the clearing. 

A tremendous clap of thunder sounded from directly above them and the clearing fell silent for a moment. The fox took its chance to repeat the phrase once more before a flash of lightning bit into a tree at the edge of the tree line, sending sparks flying towards them. The wind howled back into the clearing, knocking everyone back a step. The tree shrieked under the heat and force of the lightning, splitting with a crack that echoed through the clearing, startling everyone. Stiles looked up just in time to see the limb careening towards him. He felt strong arms pull him backwards desperately as the wolves dove out of the way.

The wind rushed from Stiles’ lungs as the limb crashed at his feet with a deafening thud, landing directly where he had been kneeling moments before. He lunged forward quickly, pulling himself from Derek’s grasp. He began scrabbling over the limb, trying to lift it. 

“We have to help it,” he cried out, “The fox, it’s stuck under the limb!” The betas rushed to his side and helped him pull the limb away from its landing place. They lifted carefully to reduce the chance of inflicting more damage to the presumably badly injured fox. Stiles crawled into the space below where the limb was being held, feeling around blindly for any sign of the fox. 

He yelped in shock as his hand hit something cold and hard. He was expecting soft and furry. He clutched the object in his grasp and climbed back out from under the branch. The others quickly carried the limb to the edge of the clearing. Stiles stood back up and slowly surveyed the clearing. 

There was no fox in sight. 

Derek sniffed at the air, trying to smell past the burning electrical stench of magic, trying to find the burnt smell of the fox, but it was no use. The only trail he could find was the one that had led them here in the first place. The fox had literally disappeared, right out from under their noses. Again. 

The betas returned, also scanning the area with eyes, ears, and noses for any trace of the fox. None of them could sense anything. Stiles felt lost and empty. This had been his chance to find out why he had been bitten, if he could reverse it, if he could ever be normal again, and now it was gone. The fox was gone. Again. He had more questions and no answers. This was turning out to be a terrible day.

Erica cautiously approached where Stiles stood, a vacant expression settling on his face as if he was in a trance. She reached out and gently wrapped her fingers around Stiles’ wrist, just above where his hand was clenched in a fist. He shook himself from his reverie and looked into Erica’s eyes. He could sense the golden beta stare within them, but at the moment they were just deep brown and inviting, consoling. She pulled him in to her chest and wrapped her free arm around his shoulders. Stiles let his head fall onto her shoulder and allowed her to comfort him, rubbing soft circles into his back.

Boyd approached calmly and placed a hand soothingly on the back of Erica’s neck. Stiles could feel her melt back into the touch. Apparently there was more going on there than a simple pack mate bond, he thought to himself. 

He could sense Isaac stepping up beside Derek where he had remained behind Stiles. Derek grasped his shoulder and squeezed once in recognition of his help. It was a small gesture, but Isaac seemed to appreciate it. He was still cautious about touching and being touched, so Derek made an effort to keep contact brief, but meaningful. Derek reached up with is other hand and threaded his fingers into Stiles’ hair once more. Stiles leaned back into the touch, pulling his forehead from Erica’s shoulder, and letting his eyes drift shut. If anyone thought the exchange was rather intimate or unprecedented, they said nothing on the matter.   
The pack remained in the clearing for a long while, huddled together, breathing in the scent of pack and safety. 

Eventually Erica pulled away from Stiles and allowed Boyd to pull her back against his chest, wrapping an arm around her waist. She still held Stiles wrist in her fingers. She lifted his arm curiously and pried his fingers open to reveal a small silver arrowhead. It looked like a piece of Native American jewelry. She raised one eyebrow quizzically and looked over Stiles’ shoulder to her alpha. Derek stepped forward and plucked the arrowhead from Stiles’ hand. It did appear to be Native American, but it wasn’t functional, as opposed to the arrowheads they were used to seeing from hunters. Inscribed into it was the silhouette of a fox.

He glanced back up at Erica and shrugged lightly before returning his scrutinizing gaze to the arrowhead. Erica scoffed at him, but returned her attention to Stiles.

“So are we actually dealing with a fox that can disappear at will,” she posed to the group, “because if so, that is a talent I am highly disappointed does not come with the werewolf gene.” Boyd chuckled behind her and Isaac tried to hide a smirk. 

Derek looked up at the sound. He didn’t realize that he had never told them about magic. They were werewolves for god’s sake, you’d think they’d figure out that magic is a bit more real than they had been told. 

“It didn’t disappear because it was a fox,” he explained exasperatedly, “it was collected, in a way.” The three betas stared at him blankly. 

“By a witch.” More blank looks. He sighed dramatically. “That electric smell in the air when that storm came in out of nowhere? That was magic. How else would that happen?” He was beginning to question his pack’s aptitude. Maybe he should start making them study more. 

“So,” Isaac began skeptically, “a witch just stole our werefox from us?” Four sets of eyes landed on Derek’s face, waiting for an answer. He stared blankly at them. They were definitely going to start studying more; this was ridiculous. 

“Yes,” he drawled patiently. The four sets of eyes blinked at him in unison. Boyd then nodded in stoic acceptance. Stiles just looked tired, like all of this was just too much to take in. Isaac kept glancing at everyone, trying to gauge their reactions. Erica simply pursed her lips and nodded once. 

“Well then,” she announced cheerfully, “looks like we have our work cut out for us. In the meantime, we should probably let Stiles have his clothes back. Derek’s boxers are a little big on him.” Boyd smiled at that and wrapped his other arm around Erica’s waist, settling his chin over her shoulder. His gaze, however, landed on Stiles. 

“Hey, did you figure out what else it was saying?” he asked, recalling how the fox had seemed to be chattering a specific pattern repeatedly.

Stiles looked up absently and nodded. The four wolves looked at him expectantly.

“It was saying ‘Protect you’. Apparently somebody wants me dead.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about you guys, but I am still REELING from this week's episode. There was just so much amazing acting in it. And so much horrible information that makes me want to curl into a ball and ignore the world forever. But no, we must carry on. For Stiles. And Scott. And the Sheriff. And Melissa. And now I'm crying again. Fuck Riddled, man. 
> 
> Anyway, back to the story. Since it's pretty much a guaranteed snow day tomorrow here in the North East, I figured I'd give you another update. And I would like to apologize in advance for the Mama Stilinski section. I wrote this last week sometime and did not realize that the posting would coincide with the SADDEST FUCKING EPISODE we've ever seen. So the sad section in this chapter may seem like a "kick them while their down" kind of move, but I swear it was not intended that way. If it makes you feel any better, I cried while writing it. So I kind of kicked myself that way. (But I totally did allude to her disease. I couldn't not after that episode. It's only like 2 lines though.)
> 
>  
> 
> So here's the update! Hope you enjoy it and don't hate me too much!

After some slight encouragement from Stiles, the pack made its way back to the Hale house to continue their discussion in relative privacy and comfort. Stiles remained quiet the entire walk back, which turned out to be a bit further than he expected. Apparently were-creatures could cover a lot more ground while running than he originally thought. 

The betas walked ahead of him, but Derek kept to his side, whether for protection or to give them space he wasn’t sure. He smiled when he noticed Erica and Boyd walking hand in hand, bumping shoulders as they climbed over the clutter of the forest floor. A pang of jealousy ached in his chest; it must be nice to have someone always there to comfort and look out for you, even someone so unexpected. Anyone could see how much the two cared for each other even though they seemed like polar opposites, but they say opposites attract, so maybe it made more sense than not. 

Stiles casually glanced to his right where Derek was trudging along next to him. The alpha was still studying the silver arrowhead, turning it over and over again in his hand. He figured Derek was just as stumped about it as he was and the thought irked him to no end. He wasn’t used to being this far out of his depth. It was like he was trying to solve one case and was told that something was a massive clue, but the clue was so mysterious, it practically opened another case altogether. He huffed out a breath, trying to shake the frustration that was quickly building in him. 

Derek looked up from the arrowhead and began to study Stiles. He could sense the anxiety taking over the boy, but he didn’t know how to stop it. The anxiety of his entire pack blended with his own was already bad enough, but adding Stiles’ substantially more severe nerves was stifling. Of course they couldn’t just have a normal week. He had really thought they were finally in the clear, or at least as clear as it ever got in Beacon Hills, but he supposed that was just wishful thinking. He watched as Erica forcefully fed her arm through Isaac’s and dragged him closer to herself and Boyd. They had already dealt with so much: Peter, pre and post resurrection, the Argents, the kanima and Matt, even Gerard for the most part, although that one came down to Scott a bit more than the pack itself. They had been through so much in so little time he figured they were due some sort of cosmic reprieve. But, as always, the cosmos had other plans. 

Stiles watched the three betas walking ahead of them, arm in arm, casually giving each other the reassuring touches they all understandably needed after such a chaotic morning. He felt like whining at the ease with which they took comfort from each other. They seemed to have gone from three strangers to an unshakeable support system in no time at all. 

Stiles had never been very good at making friends; one of the many reasons he and Scott clung to each other so exclusively. Stiles tended to be a little too loud, a little too destructive, a little too scattered for most people to handle. He knew people found him odd, but that was who he was. He had tried for a couple of months in elementary school to fit in with the other kids. He had begged his parents for the expensive cool kid clothes and the flashy backpack. He had watched the popular shows that all the cool kids watched, which mainly featured middle and high schoolers in much more dramatic and provocative situations than his 4th grade libido could comprehend or handle. He had bitten his tongue every time he wanted to make a ridiculous comment or joke. He had sat quietly in class, subtly snapping a rubber band against his arms and legs in an effort to keep from fidgeting too much. He only talked about the things the cool kids wanted to discuss. He even offered up the desserts that his mom painstakingly made for his lunches to the other kids as a bribe for their friendship, but they would just take the offerings and turn around to ignore him immediately after. He tried as hard as he could to be a normal kid and it had been miserable.

Then his mother had gotten sick. Stiles knew it was bad, but he didn’t know how bad at first. He didn’t understand why she had to spend so much time at the hospital, or why his dad was getting progressively angrier and sadder at the same time. The sheriff, then a deputy, would come home from the hospital and lock himself in his office. Sometimes Stiles would hear him throwing things, or breaking things, but mainly he heard him sobbing, usually muffled by a jacket sleeve or a pillow, but still loud enough to carry through the door. 

That was when he Stiles had first started getting nightmares. He used to wake up terrified, gasping for air. He would crawl out of his bed, dragging his pillow and Batman blanket with him, hoping that Batman would be able to protect him. He would curl up on the floor in front of his father’s locked office, listening to the soft moans coming from behind the door. Even the heartbreaking sounds of his father’s sobs were more comforting than being alone in his room. He remembered his dad coming out of the office in the mornings, dark circles under his eyes, clothes disheveled, and face grim. He would take one look at Stiles and promptly scoop him up, cradling him tightly against his chest, refusing to let go until Stiles hugged him back just as tightly. Those were the best and most confusing hugs he had ever gotten. 

His mother slowly began to get more and more confused during her time at home. Every so often she would look at Stiles like she had forgotten he was there. The last month she was at home, Stiles was rarely able to sleep through the night, either woken from by his own nightmares, or his mother’s. She became distant after a while, like she didn’t want anyone around her. 

Once his mother was checked into the hospital for good, Stiles finally realized that she was dying. He would put on his bravest face every time he visited, bringing crafts and projects from school to show her. He never cried in her room. She didn’t either. Not while he was there. He was still trying to be a normal kid, hoping that it would be one less thing for his mother to worry about, so he kept his conversations light and structured around popular topics. She would smile politely as he talked about things that meant nothing to him. 

As she got worse, Stiles wasn’t allowed to visit as often. He later found it wasn’t because she didn’t want to see him, but rather she didn’t want him to see her. Not like that. His eight-year-old self would wait in the lobby while his dad ran in to check on her. That was where he met Scott. Simple blessed Scott was the only other child he saw there with any real frequency. He found out that Scott’s mother worked at the hospital and that his dad had left them that year. Scott would lead Stiles around, showing him all his secret places in the hospital: the closet that led to the boiler room where giant metal monsters drank fire and spewed steam, the hidden chest of good toys in the children’s ward, the secret stairwell that led to the roof where they could look out over the entire town as the sun set, casting an orange glow over all the buildings. Pretty soon all of the regular hospital staff was used to seeing the two boys running around all areas of the building. None had the heart to really yell at them, even when they got into things they really shouldn’t be around. They would just usher them back to the children’s ward where there were toys and things more appropriate than medical supplies to occupy them.

Sometimes they would see other kids in the children’s ward and invite them to play too. It was there that they met a small mousy haired boy who had come in with a broken arm. They had decided to cheer him up by putting him in a mop bucket lined with blankets and pushing him up and down the halls at top speed. There was another time a little black girl even younger than they were had come in to get her tonsils out. She was excited for the ice cream she had been promised, but was bored shortly after her first dose of frozen sugary medicine. Scott and Stiles had swiped some books and toys from the hidden toy chest and made a blanket fort in her room for her. They had spent the rest of the afternoon reading to her and playing with toy cars. Her big brother hadn’t joined in, but he also hadn’t left her side the entire time; he just stood there watching Stiles and Scott stoically, offering words to them when they stumbled over the ones in the books. 

Their favorite hospital friend had been a little blonde girl with frizzy hair and a fancy metal bracelet with a snake on it. She was in and out of the hospital all the time even though she seemed perfectly healthy when they were with her, so they saw her more often than anyone else. She was fearless. She would throw her hair into a lopsided ponytail and follow them around as they explored the boiler rooms and tried to break into locked offices, not caring whether her child-sized gown was destroyed in the process. She actually convinced them to sneak into the kitchen at one point and steal a tub of the tonsillectomy ice cream. They had feasted like kings on the roof that day, watching the birds dance above the trees. 

Those days in the hospital with Scott and the sick and injured kids showed him that he didn’t have to be cool to have friends; there were people out there who liked him for who he really was. He and Scott became inseparable after that. Even though they were in different classes at school, they would find each other whenever they could and pick up their made up adventures wherever they had left off. Stiles went back to being the spastic kid who called out with silly questions and couldn’t sit still. He didn’t care about being normal anymore; Scott was the one he cared about and Scott didn’t care if he was spastic or said weird things. Scott was his best friend. Scott was the one who jumped in when Jackson started teasing Stiles about wearing the same clothes to school multiple days in a row when he and his father started staying at the hospital at night. Stiles had launched himself at the boy, throwing punches left and right, not caring whether they landed or not. Scott had jumped in and kept pulling Jackson’s friends off of Stiles, letting the boy work out his anger on the most worthy target either of them had met. 

They had both ended up suspended for three days for that, the first of many indiscretions the pair would see. Scott had spent the three days with Stiles in the hospital where he was finally introduced to Stiles’ mom. They spent three days excitedly telling her all the crazy stories of their adventures, re-enacting the best parts as dramatically as they could. They even brought the little blond girl to meet her once; she was even more theatrical than Scott and Stiles had been. His mom seemed to smile the whole time they were there, thrilled that her son was finally being himself again, laughing at his stories even when it caused her pain. Stiles could tell that his mother approved of Scott, which only solidified his decision to never let the boy go. Even now, Scott was his confidant above everyone else. Stiles’ last memories of his mother were from those three days, introducing the love of his life to his new best friend. 

Stiles suddenly felt much more alone than he had in a long time.

Derek could smell the pain seeping out of Stiles, but there were no obvious wounds that could be causing it. He grabbed the back of Stiles’ neck firmly and pulled him into his side, letting his arm drape down the boy’s back, trying to leech some of the pain from his skin. The abrupt motion snapped Stiles mind out of its trip down memory lane. He felt tears staining his cheek and vaguely wondered when that had happened and if anyone had noticed. He decided he didn’t care and let himself melt into Derek’s touch, leaning heavily against his side. Neither said a word as they finally approached the Hale property.

Scott came running down the stairs as they gathered in what had once been a foyer. He launched himself at Stiles as Derek relinquished his hold, rushing forward to embrace his best friend. He wrapped his arms around him and squeezed harder than should have been comfortable, but Stiles sank into the embrace anyway, squeezing back with equal force. It reminded him of the confusing hugs his dad used to give. Scott clung to him for at least a minute before loosening his hold and stepping back some. 

“Dude, you’re back and you’re okay! What happened? Why is Erica all beat up? Where have you guys been,” Scott demanded, “I got here like half an hour ago and all I found was a couple piles of clothes and a torn up bed sheet!”

Everyone turned to stare as Erica erupted into a fit of giggles, effectively breaking Stiles from his memory induced stupor. Clearly she wasn’t still injured, although her ripped clothing and the blood clinging to her skin definitely told a different story. 

“Oh I can imagine the story that told,” she wheezed out, doubling over in laughter, “Especially after what we saw this morning. It must have been a really hard night.” As her words sunk in, the tension of the morning began to break. Boyd was trying his best not to smile, but Isaac fell prey to the giggles and soon joined Erica in doubling over with laughter. Both Derek and Stiles fought to keep a blush from rising. Neither realized that the betas had actually entered the room that morning. The giggles from the hallway now made a lot more sense. 

Scott just stared incredulously. Stiles self-consciously rubbed a hand through his hair while Derek gruffly crossed his arms in front of his chest. Of course Scott recognized both as defensive gestures and his eyes zeroed in on Stiles’ reddening face. 

“What happened last night,” he questioned urgently, eyes darting between Stiles and Derek, who was studiously staring at the wall behind Scott. Stiles brought his hands up in a calming gesture.

“Bro, nothing happened. Don’t worry,” Stiles explained, “It’s just, well, I kinda woke up human again, which hey, awesome! But since foxes don’t wear clothes, I also woke up kinda…buck ass nude. So it was a bit of an awkward hello this morning since I may have fallen asleep…um, near and/or on Derek”. Stiles voice fell flat after his masterful explanation, his eyes looking anywhere but Scott’s face. Scott just stared at Stiles, fully taking in his lack of clothing at last.

Isaac decided that Stiles’ explanation was not thorough enough and decided to add in the one small, well actually rather large, detail he had omitted.

“It wasn’t so much the fact that you were naked, as it was the fact that you were both sporting some major morning wood,” he added gleefully before ducking behind Boyd for safety. 

Scott’s jaw dropped and he slowly looked between Isaac, Stiles, and Derek. Erica finally gave in to the need to collapse into a new fit of laughter and rolled onto the floor. Even Boyd’s shoulders were shaking subtly as he chuckled softly to himself, avoiding Derek’s glare. Boyd was supposed to be the sensible, trustworthy one in the pack, yet there he was laughing at his alpha and his stupid dick that didn’t know when to stay down.

Stiles had had enough of being laughed at for the momet. He walked over to the cackling betas and held out his hand.

“Alright, you heathens, where’d you hide my clothes?” The betas stopped laughing immediately and looked up at him with innocent expressions. Oh god, this was not good. 

“Whatever do you mean, Stiles?” Erica asked cloyingly, “We would never steal your clothes.”

“Absolutely, that would be rude,” Isaac supplied.

“Inconceivable,” Boyd added.

Stiles’ jaw hung open as he blatantly gaped at Boyd. Was that a joke? Did Boyd just make a joke? And a movie reference? What was happening today?

“Erica, give him his clothes back,” Derek grumbled from across the room. Erica just tsk-ed and wagged a finger in his direction.

“That wasn’t the deal,” she sang. “You had to catch me if you wanted his clothes back. You didn’t.” She then turned her lecherous gaze to Stiles. “You remember my other conditions,” she whispered, adding a wink at the end. The overall effect with the blood dried to her face was more threatening than Stiles would ever admit.

All eyes turned to Stiles where he stood in the center of the entryway. They could see him staring down Erica, trying to size up how serious she was. To her credit, she simply knelt on the floor looking up at him innocently. Boyd tapped her gently on the shoulder.

“Come on, Queeny, he’s had a rough enough day,” he pleaded tenderly. Erica flushed at the nickname, eyes darting down to the floor. Clearly something was going on there, thought Stiles. There was so much about these people that he did not know, and the more he found out, the more he was surprised. He deserved to be surprising too.

“You know what? Fuck it. Shield your eyes, unless you want a show,” he announced as he grasped the waistband of his borrowed boxers and pulled them straight down. He heard Scott slap his hand across his eyes from behind him. Not that he hadn’t seen Stiles naked before, but locker room showers were kind of a gray area for that kind of thing. Isaac choked out a laugh and turned his head away, shielding his eyes with his hand. 

To Stiles’ surprise both Erica and Boyd gave him a thorough once over, though Erica’s eyes hesitated a bit longer on Stiles’ crotch. He decided he may as well make it worth their while. He slowly stepped out of the boxers pooled around his feet, lifted his arms, and started to turn in a circle, wiggling his hips as much as he could along the way. Boyd spit out a full-blown laugh and Erica was once again reduced to giggles. 

As Stiles finished half of his revolution, he was surprised to see that Derek was watching him as well. Stiles smirked and threw a wink in his direction. There was a definite blush spreading across his face as he turned away quickly. A whistled rang out behind him as Erica and Boyd were graced with a full view of his backside, still swaying and jiggling. 

Scott made the mistake of peeking out from behind his hand a moment too early and was greeted with a full frontal view of his best friend. 

“Oh my god, dude, would you please put some clothes on?” he beseeched dramatically. Stiles just laughed. 

“Some of us are enjoying the view, thank you very much, McCall,” Erica hollered from the floor. 

As Stiles completed his turn he lowered his hands back down and raised an eyebrow at Erica.

“Do I get my clothes now? You got a good, long look, and I even threw in some of my awesome dance moves.”

Erica quirked a smile up at him. She looked up at Boyd and nodded her head toward the kitchen.

“Boyd, if you wouldn’t mind,” she said, adding, “thanks, dear.”

She then turned her predatory eyes to Stiles again. She eyed him up and down once more and rolled her eyes.

“I guess fair is fair,” she decided. “The rest of you keep your eyes shut!” 

Stiles blanched as Erica reached up the back of her shirt and fiddled with her bra. A moment later she was throwing the leopard printed garment on the ground and reaching for the hem of her own shirt. 

“You’re not getting the full show because Boyd may look like a teddy bear, but he will tear you to shreds,” she declared. 

Stiles would never, ever, compare Boyd to a teddy bear. It would be like comparing Derek to a bunny. Although his too front teeth were rather bunny-ish now that Stiles thought about it… Either way, he would not describe Boyd as a teddy bear. It was just grossly inaccurate. Stiles scratched absently at his wrist and tried to look away from where Erica’s shirt was slowly rising up her stomach. He heard Derek sigh dramatically behind him. 

“Look, you really don’t have to do this,” Stiles started, “Not that I wouldn’t be more than happy to look, but I don’t want Boyd to kill me for it.” Erica’s hand stopped and she scowled at Stiles.

“Honey, my body is my business. I can show whatever I want to whomever I want. And my teddy bear knows that. The only reason you’re not getting the full monty is because I choose to save that for him,” she admonished. Stiles fell silent at her speech. He nodded quickly; impressed that she had such respect and control about her body already. 

She then pulled her shirt up sharply, letting her jacket fall open, exposing her now bare breasts to the room. Stiles sputtered for a moment, eyes darting back and forth from her chest to her face, not sure how blatantly he was allowed to stare. Erica laughed at his obvious internal debate.

“Get a good, hard look,” she teased. “I know I sure did. Besides, I doubt I’ll be doing this again.” 

Stiles took her comment as absolute approval and let his eyes rove over the swell of each breast. He had seen breasts before (he was a teenager after all), but those had been through a computer screen. They were much different in person somehow. He had known that Erica was rather well endowed, but seeing the proof in person was impressive. Her substantial breasts hung to the middle of her ribcage. He could tell that one was slightly larger than the other and her nipples were slightly cockeyed, and kind of big. And yet, they were the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen, because they were real, and they belonged to an amazing girl who was absolutely chocked full of surprises, and she was willingly showing them to him. He noticed an angry red line along her ribs that must have been from the bra. How did girls wear those things if they were so tight and uncomfortable? 

He was still scrutinizing Erica’s chest when Boyd re-entered the room and threw the bag of clothes at Stiles’ stomach. The shock of the bag hitting him broke his concentration. Stiles scrambled to pick it up before looking up at Boyd guiltily. Boyd simply walked behind Erica and wrapped his arms under hers and gently cupped her breasts in his large hands. 

“No harm done,” he assured Stiles, “As she said, it’s her body. I just happened to get first crack at it when she wants me to.” He winked at Stiles before placing a kiss on Erica’s cheek. Erica lowered her shirt and turned into the kiss. It was amazing that these two people, out of everyone he knew, had ended up together. And they seemed more comfortable and happy than any other couple he’d ever met. 

A throat cleared behind him and Stiles startled a bit, having forgotten that there were three other people in the room. 

“Maybe you should go get dressed,” Derek suggested, cheeks still adorably red. Who knew the alpha was so shy when other people were naked. He sure didn’t seem to have a problem when he was the mainly nude person in the room. Stiles turned to him, tossing a suggestive glance down his body. 

“Maybe you should too, big guy,” he drawled. 

Derek uncrossed his arms and shuffled awkwardly for a moment. He looked down at his own bare chest and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Fine,” he agreed, sounding suspiciously like a petulant child. He pushed past Stiles and jumped up the stairs three at a time. Stiles turned to follow and shifted the bag of clothes to cover his rear, his self-consciousness finally catching up with him, as he ascended the staircase much less impressively. 

Scott heard the bathroom door lock and finally opened his eyes. 

“Coast’s clear,” he alerted Isaac. The lanky beta opened his eyes slowly, blinking at the sight of Erica’s bra on the floor in front of him. He looked up at Erica and Boyd questioningly. The two just continued to sway to some music only they could hear, wrapped up in each others’ arms. 

“So what else happened this morning,” he asked the room at large. “I assume there’s a reason you were all out and Stiles and Derek had no clothes on. And why Erica’s all cut up. Are you sure you’re okay?” Erica smiled at him briefly before nuzzling back into Boyd’s chest.

Isaac decided to take the lead on the explanation.

“Oh right. Well, we came in and noticed that Derek was still asleep, which was really odd because he’s usually up at the asscrack of dawn. So we stealthily peeked into his room where we saw a very naked Stiles practically dry humping his leg. We thought that Derek had finally made a move. I mean we didn’t even know he realized what was going on between them. So anyway, Erica got the wonderful idea to hide Stiles’ clothes since he had made the mistake of falling asleep without them on. When she snuck in to grab the clothes, she then noticed the, uh, well she noticed that they were both either having really good dreams or just really like morning. She barely made it out of the room before she burst out laughing. Once they woke up, we got to eavesdrop on a very confusing conversation that ended up being a lesson on circumcision. None of us are really sure how that happened.”

“I have a good idea,” Erica interrupted. “Haven’t you ever seen Derek without his pants on?”

Isaac and Scott turned blank stares at her.

“Ugh, you guys are pathetic. Women look at naked women. It is so not a big deal to look at a naked dude. Especially one as hot as Derek.” They didn’t look convinced. 

“Well, either way, I have seen him naked because I’m not afraid to look, and he seems to forget that he’s not magically wearing pants when he comes out of the shower after training, so I can absolutely verify that his rather impressive package is of the uncut variety.” Boyd seemed to nod in response to this announcement, but Scott and Isaac were still staring blankly. 

“Think about it guys,” he explained, “what would make Stiles start talking about circumcision?” 

“Practically anything,” Scott joked. At least Erica laughed.

“That may be,” she agreed, “but I’m 90% sure it’s because he saw Derek’s dick this morning and didn’t know how to react, so he went into ramble mode, which you know he habitually does.”

Scott had to agree. He loved Stiles, but his brain to mouth filter was pretty much permanently shut off. 

“Moving on,” Derek called from the top of the stairs, “I decided to retrieve Stiles’ clothes from Erica who decided to try to run away.”

“Ha, try my ass. I did run away. You never caught me, oh almighty alpha,” she taunted.

Derek jumped down the stairs in one swift movement, landing directly in front of her. She tried to take a step back, but Boyd was like a wall behind her.

“And whose decision do you think that was,” Derek hissed, leaning his head down, pushing his face right into Erica’s. “If I hadn’t broken off your trail, the fox would’ve gotten away. Your little stunt could’ve prevented us from catching the thing that bit Stiles!”

“You guys found the fox,” Scott asked excitedly, stepping forward to join the heated conversation. Isaac nodded subtly, but Derek and Erica were still locked in impassioned argument. 

Erica’s eyes sparked to life and shined gold as she lifted her gaze to meet Derek’s confrontationally, but she immediately looked back down, shrinking back, cowed slightly. 

“You know I was just playing. How was I supposed to know that we were going to end up hunting a werefox?” she added peevishly. “I didn’t even know werefoxes existed until we cornered that one. Or that Stiles was one…” Erica’s voice tapered off. Derek wasn’t backing down.

“You didn’t suspect something was going on when you walked in and found Stiles, naked in my house?” Erica glanced up the stairs before her eyes turned back to the group, full of resolve. She straightened back up and leveled Derek with a vicious stare.

“You know what,” she started heatedly, pushing back into Derek’s space. “No. No I didn’t suspect a fucking werefox. Stiles being here naked did not immediately translate to Stiles was bitten by a supernatural creature, to me.” She jabbed at Derek’s chest with one finger. “It translated to you finally using your brain and growing a pair and asking him out. Sooo sorry that I thought for once something good was happening in this shitty town.” 

Derek took a step back, shock and confusion coloring his face. Erica’s steely gaze refused to waver from Derek’s for a moment. Erica lowered her hand quickly; fear flashing through her eyes at the realization that she had just directly challenged and lectured her alpha. She tried to mask it, but it was obvious enough that Boyd stepped up to stand partially in front of her, standing to his full size; protecting her from any wrath Derek might throw her way. Derek was staring blankly at her, mouth gaping, searching for the right response.

“Why…why would you think that,” he asked, sounding more self-conscious than angry. His mind was flashing through everything he had imagined in the shower. Did he actually want Stiles? Was that more than just a physical reaction to a comforting touch? Did Erica know? Scott watched him with puzzlement. It was hard to tell with Derek, but it definitely looked like panic was flashing across his face. 

Erica rolled her eyes and let out a breath. Boyd deflated and stepped forward, taking pity and reaching a hand out to grab Derek’s shoulder. The alpha’s eyes flicked up to look at Boyd who just looked down reassuringly.

“Don’t worry about it for now. We have more important things on our plate at the moment. Erica is just a bit of a romantic and likes to play matchmaker, whether people want her to or not,” he explained, throwing a quick smile back at her. “I think we should get back to the whole ‘Stiles is a werefox now?’ discussion. Because that is still pretty new to me.”

Erica’s eyes drifted towards the ceiling as if she could see through it to where Stiles was taking his time rejoining the group. Scott and Derek followed her gaze involuntarily.

“I guess that explains why he caught wind of the fox before either Isaac or I did,” Boyd interjected, drawing the attention back to the discussion at hand. “He came sprinting down the stairs after Derek chased Erica off. I’ve never seen him move like that. He went running out around the back of the house and took off into the woods. Isaac and I tried to follow, but he was somehow faster than even we are, and more agile.”

Scott glanced between the members of Derek’s pack, wondering when they had become so adept at running with whatever came up. 

“It was good that you did follow him,” Derek commended, “ It allowed me and Erica to set up a trap. That’s exactly why wolves hunt in packs.” He looked a bit proud at that. He then turned to Scott. He wasn’t sure how much of the following events Stiles would want his best friend to know. He figured he’d keep it to the bare minimum. 

“We cornered the fox and Stiles…spoke to it,” Derek offered hesitantly. 

Scott’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. 

“He can talk to foxes? Awesome! Can we talk to wolves,” he inquired absently before plowing through the thought in his mind. “Why did it answer him? Peter definitely wouldn’t have answered me, although he may not be the best basis for comparison,” 

The other wolves shared a look amongst themselves. Each looked prepared to be the bearer of bad news, although definitely not happily. Derek decided that if more information was required, he should be the one to explain rather than the betas.

“He caught it, once we had it cornered. He gave it multiple chances to answer him and when it didn’t, he…convinced it.” Derek still couldn’t admit that Stiles was vicious enough to do the damage he had done.

“How?” Scott knew Derek was hiding something. The other wolves looked at him sympathetically. None of them wanted to make Stiles seem like a monster, but what he had done was a bit beyond what any of them were comfortable with.

“I broke its leg at a 90 degree angle.” Stiles was standing at the top of the stairs listening in to the terse conversation happening below. 

Scott just looked from Stiles to the others, trying to figure out if he was telling the truth. Based on their faces, he was.

“It turns out it was trying to protect me. It was hiding because it’s being hunted. It thinks I am too, so it was trying to protect me. And I broke its leg.” Stiles’ head hung low between his shoulders.

Scott climbed up the stairs and put his arm around Stiles. 

“You didn’t know, man,” he offered trying to figure out how to make this okay. He thought back to his own comparison from a moment earlier. “It bit you without consent. The only other forced bite we had to go off of was Peter. And we all know how he turned out. You were right to be forceful. It was the safe thing to do.” Stiles deflated some, but turned a smile at Scott. 

Derek stared up at the pair; amazed that Scott had managed to calm Stiles in a matter of seconds. The really were a matched set. 

Scott led Stiles down to the rest of the group, who gathered around him supportively. Erica looped her arm through Stiles’ and gave him a nudge of encouragement. He smiled at her quickly. 

“So what happened after that? I notice that there is no fox currently hiding in the house,” Scott asked.

Derek sighed deeply. This whole story was starting to seem more and more ridiculous the more he said. He inhaled and braced himself.

“A witch took it,” he said as deadpanned as he could manage.

Scott looked up in shock.

“A witch? Wait, witches are real too?” 

“Apparently so,” Stiles clarified, “and this particular one seems to agree with whoever wants me dead since she took the one thing trying to help me.”

A chorus of indignant ‘Hey!’s echoed around him. Every wolf in the room was staring at him.

“We are all trying to help you, asshat,” Erica declared, nudging him harder with her elbow. Isaac and Boyd nodded their agreement.

“We just have to figure out how,” Scott added, squeezing Stiles’ shoulders. 

“I guess we can start here,” Derek offered, holding up the silver arrowhead. 

“It looks like we’re all going to be pulling some research duty on this one,” Stiles supplied mock-cheerfully. 

The wolves around him groaned at the prospect of having more bookwork to do, but it was mainly for dramatic effect. 

“So,” Boyd asked solemnly, “who’s up for a trip to the library?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you concerned with the Boyd/Erica relationship, I'm sorry, but they are my babies. I will never forgive the show for killing them off with such little concern and then writing off their deaths as if they'd barely even been alive. They both held so much freaking potential as characters and actors and the fact that we got rid of them and got the twins instead pisses me off to no end. Also Erica is my queen. I would do anything for her, so I felt Boyd would feel the same, hence the nickname. Maybe it's my own headcanons coming into play, but hey, I'm writing it, so whatever. Lol. 
> 
> I am trying to keep the characters as close to canon as possible, but they underutilized Boyd so much that I could give him practically any personality and no one could really contest it. 
> 
> Sorry, this wasn't meant to sound hostile. I'm just bitter. And protective of my babies. I want my queen to be happy, with her giant teddy bear.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack finally gets a start on researching what the hell might be happening. 
> 
> Mainly pack dynamic fluff, with a bit of a wank towards the end. (Getting back to that NSFW vibe)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about the rest of you, but I am so incredibly distracted by Dark Stiles on the show that it has been hard to focus on this story. So I apologize for that, but you may not get two quick updates this week. In fact you may not get another one until the weekend. We'll see how much writing I can get done. Maybe I'll throw a short chapter out there to keep the pace going at least. We'll see. Hopefully we're not all so distracted by what's happening on screen that we can't get back into this vastly different world. (Seriously though, I am SO FREAKING DISTRACTED by Dark Stiles, you don't even know.)
> 
> Anyway, hope you're all having a lovely week! Enjoy the newest installment!

The pack spent the rest of the afternoon in the library, digging through books and scouring the internet for any clues about the silver arrowhead. Since it was a Sunday the building closed at 4:30, but it was probably in everyone’s best interest that they weren’t there very long; they weren’t the most considerate patrons. The librarian had made a habit of circling around to their group every five minutes to glare them back into silence and futilely attempt to herd them back to their own table. It was a miracle they weren’t actually been kicked out before closing time. 

Isaac was assigned to the computer after a brief speed-typing contest had broke out in which he left everyone in the dust, apart from Stiles. Boyd turned out to be surprisingly familiar with the local library and immediately went in search of the history books when they arrived. Stiles was left to break up an argument between Erica and Derek about which section they were going to search. They both insisted that they were going to search the military/weapons section based on “vast preexisting knowledge of that area” which Stiles wasn’t sure he ever wanted to know about. (When he thought about it, it really spoke volumes about their supposedly sleepy town that they even had an entire section dedicated to weapons and military in the public library.) Eventually Erica yielded to Derek and wandered off to the mythology section at Stiles’ suggestion. Derek looked slightly affronted that, as a supernatural creature, he hadn’t thought to go to the mythology section first, having been focused almost solely on the weapon aspect of the arrowhead. 

Scott was the only pack member missing. He had convinced Stiles that he would be best to talk to Allison about whether there were any hunter families whose symbol was a fox, seeing as the fox disappeared and left an arrowhead in its wake. Stiles knew it was a flimsy ploy to see Allison since he hadn’t seen her all weekend. After the events of the previous year, the junior huntress was on less than low standings with the pack. But it was a decent enough lead to go off of if Scott remembered to ask in the presence of his radiant angel (his words, not Stiles’), so they had let him go under the strict orders to keep it vague and to not let Chris know anything was happening. The last thing they needed was to be worried about their own hunters getting in the way. 

Stiles ended up at the computer next to Isaac and decided to focus on the symbolism of the arrowhead, promptly looking up every Native American tribe on the west coast. Unfortunately, there were dozens, even in just the northern pacific coast. He had 25 tabs open before the others had even returned with their books. As he started skimming through the tabs, learning about the different tribes, the wolves made their way back sullenly, each carrying at least a dozen thick heavy books and doing very little to hide their werewolf strength. By the time they had all reconvened and piled their books together, Stiles swore he could hear the table groaning under the weight. Okay, some of the groaning was coming from the pack; no one likes to do work on a Sunday. 

As the afternoon wore on, everyone fell into their own comfortable researching routine. Derek had ended up sitting by the window, using the natural sunlight streaming in rather than the harsh halogen lights in the ceiling. Erica had immediately deposited herself into Boyd’s lap where the two would quietly nuzzle against each other as they read through their separate books. But they soon shifted to a more comfortable position on the floor, leaning back against a nearby stack, tucked in close, tickling each other constantly, and just being sickeningly adorable in general. Eric’s peals of laughter whenever Boyd happened to surprise her had brought the librarian over more than a few times. They quickly learned that Ms. Hargrove was of the “children should be seen and not heard” upbringing, and furthermore was vehemently against PDA, if her constant sneer in Boyd and Erica’s direction was anything to go by.

Isaac seemed to have a decent strategy when it came to the unique language of the internet search engine and was pulling up everything he could find about silver arrowheads, although most of it just lead to jewelry sites. Stiles noticed that he would reward himself with a quick game of Minesweeper in between every few pages of potential leads. It was rather surprising how quickly he could clear the boards; he must have either had a lot of time on a computer with no internet, or he had developed a sixth sense for hazards after living with the emotional minefield that was his father. Stiles was sorry for Isaac’s loss and he knew the boy often missed his father, but he couldn’t be happier that Isaac was finally free from that abuse. He had a good family now, one that took care of him, one that didn’t treat him like a burden. He had been spending a week at a time at each of the pack members’ houses since his father had been killed. 

While they continued to individually examine the pages in front of them, they took to calling out any potentially relevant information to the group at large as they came across it. However, as they had spread out a bit since their arrival, they had to speak rather forcefully. That, too, had brought the librarian over a number of times for more glaring and stern words. The whole pack was getting used to the daggers being stared at them from across the room. Fortunately there were only a couple of other people in the building throughout the afternoon, so they weren’t really disturbing anyone other than Ms. Hargrove.

Surprisingly each of them found at least one potentially relevant passage in each of the sections they had chosen. Derek found a number of the typical silver bullet theories that always popped up as ‘fun trivia’ in weaponry books; the ones that talked about silver bullets as if they were supernatural RAID. But he also found an interesting allusion to the Lone Ranger: a semi-shady character who would sweep in out of nowhere, save the day, and leave nothing but a silver bullet in his wake. 

The metaphor was not lost on Stiles. Though he wasn’t confident about whether the Ranger was meant to be the fox, or the Witch. Nor was he sure about whether he was the one being hunted or saved by said ranger. A couple of the books had also mentioned that arrowheads had been a common symbol for thousands of years and held a number of meanings, ranging from hunter to protector, which really didn’t narrow it down very much. Overall it wasn’t entirely comforting information, but it left the option for benevolence open, so Stiles was counting that facet as a draw. 

Meanwhile Erica found an ancient Greek myth about Apollo and Artemis that claimed that the god and goddess would infect humans with disease by way of an arrow. The arrowhead symbol was later attached to the witches who would heal those infected. Again, the message was pretty coincidental: a supernatural creature infecting a human, yet magically healing them at the same time. 

Boyd confirmed what Stiles had found about Native American tribes throughout the west coast making use of arrowheads, and many of them having fox lore in their history, or at least the history that was written down. The native fox mythology most often depicted foxes as trickster spirits. While this had been interesting news, it too was not particularly comforting. A trickster spirit was not something Stiles wanted to tangle with right now, or ever. He’d seen Supernatural. 

Isaac had found hundreds of websites selling silver arrowhead pendants and charms, but none that had any kind of fox inscription. He had also found an interesting looking book about a murdered paleontologist that was titled The Silver Arrowhead, but it didn’t look like a promising lead. 

By the end of the afternoon everyone was exhausted from reading and being yelled at, so they decided to call it a night. They had unearthed a few vaguely sarcastic theories to run with, so the day wasn’t a complete loss, but they were still no closer to figuring out who the fox was or who had taken it. Or why they had left the arrowhead.

Eventually they decided to head back to their respective houses. Stiles noticed that each of them took a moment to hug him or grip him in some way (or in Erica’s case, sloppily kiss him on the cheek) before they parted. He knew the pack had the instinct to scent each other, but it had never really extended to him before. He wasn’t sure if it was just because they were finally getting to know him apart from Scott, or if it was the urge to rein in the other were-creature in their midst, but he was surprisingly okay with the scenting. He noticed that he could smell each of their scents lingering on his skin as they pulled away. Isaac left a sort of sad smell, like the air before a hurricane hits: charged, with untold capabilities that should be exciting, but was mainly frightening. Boyd had more of an almond and bark scent, which perfectly complimented Erica’s strawberry infused spiciness. 

He tried to stay cool about it, but he was secretly ecstatic that they were bringing him into their weird little family. He had been missing family for so long. Stiles had been the only one who never questioned Derek’s need to restart his pack. He had felt what just one loss in a family could do to a person; he didn’t even want to imagine the kind of pain Derek had been in for the past few years. He let the scents of the pack wash over him and fill his senses. None of them smelled of home quite like Derek had, but the combination was intoxicating. 

As the three betas wandered to the car Derek crept up from behind Stiles and tenderly palmed the back of his neck, squeezing just long enough to send a shiver down Stiles’ spine. 

“You’ll be okay on your own,” he stated, only sounding like half a question. Stiles swallowed and tried to respond, but his jaw wouldn’t cooperate. He nodded after a moment.

“Call if anything happens,” he ordered, “Anything at all. But especially if you start to feel weird. Like you might be turning back into a fox,” he added at Stiles’ look of confusion. Stiles once again nodded his assurance. Satisfied with the acknowledgement, Derek gently released his neck and headed for the car. It wasn’t until Derek’s hand reached for the handle that Stiles’ voice finally returned to him.

“Just so we’re clear, I am always a fox,” he called out with a wink before sashaying to his own jeep. Derek rolled his eyes and dropped down into his seat without a word, but Stiles was positive he had heard a laugh.

 

Stiles’ phone lit up sporadically over the next 25 minutes as each of the pack members sent the all clear upon arrival to their homes. Boyd and Isaac’s had been simple: 

Vernon Boyd: [Received 17:14] Home safe, no evil doings along the way. See you all tomorrow.

Erica’s was a bit saucier.

Erica Reyes: [Received 17:25] It figures, I finally have the house to myself for the night, but there’s no one here to share this big empty bed with. Guess I’ll just have to make use of it myself. ;)’ 

 

Stiles had to smile at the picture of the cheerfully raunchy blonde at the tope of the conversation. This pack was just so bizarre; it was a miracle they all worked together. 

Derek’s message came in last, and quite a bit later. Stiles had already made and finished a sandwich for dinner. He was just sitting down to do a little more research before bed when he noticed the blinking light on his phone accompanying the surly picture of the resident alpha Sourwolf. 

 

Derek Hale: [Received 20:03] I checked around the preserve again just in case there was any trace to be found, but I couldn’t find anything. Back home now. Try to keep yourself safe until tomorrow. 

 

Stiles replied immediately.

 

Stiles Stilinski: [Sent 20:04] I resent the ‘try’ in that message, but thanks for letting me know you got home safe. Although I’m not sure how ‘safe’ your house is. I mean you only have three actual walls…

 

He waited a few moments for a response, but his phone sat silent. Maybe that was a bit of a low blow. It was bad enough that Derek was living in the burnt out shell of a house, Stiles really didn’t need to be pointing out how badly run down the place was. 

He was just about to send an apology when he his phone lit up again. 1 New Message.

 

Derek Hale: [Received 20:12] It’s more like 3 ½ walls. And 7/8ths of a roof. There’s a good 90% of the porch left. And probably 11/12ths of the floor apart from the hole your little girlfriend made when she resurrected Peter. 

 

Stiles winced at the reminder. None of them were really sure what had happened with Peter just that he was somehow alive again. They weren’t even sure where he was at the moment; he had left right after the run in with Gerard. So much had happened so quickly that no one really realized he was gone until it was too late to do anything about it. Lydia still refused to talk about it. Stiles couldn’t really blame her; he didn’t like to think about his own run-ins with Peter.

He reread the message and felt an involuntary twitch at the corner of his mouth. If he didn’t know any better, it almost seemed like Derek was joking. He was actually making funny (well, sarcastic, but still funny) comments about his terribly devastating home. Stiles didn’t know Derek even had a sense of humor. He wanted to see more. The phone flashed in his hand.

 

Derek Hale: [Received 20:15] But that doesn’t matter. I’m not at the house. I’m home. 

 

Stiles frowned down at the message. The Hale house was home. Wasn’t it?

 

Stiles Stilinski: [Sent 20:15] What? You have another house? Why didn’t you tell us? 

 

He was trying to make sense of this new information. It was clear that Derek had things in the Hale house. He had a bedroom and clothing, and working plumbing he recalled from the previous night.

 

Derek Hale: [Received 20:16] I have a loft downtown. I stay at the old house on weekends. Mainly to be closer to the pack, but also to make sure local delinquents don’t stumble onto the property looking for trouble.

 

Stiles couldn’t help but think that last part was directed at him. He thought for a moment about how to respond.

 

Stiles Stilinski: [Sent 20:18] I’ll have you know I walked onto the property perfectly well, no stumbling involved. And just think if I hadn’t, you would have never met me. And then you would have been robbed of the joy that is having a Stiles in your life. 

 

Maybe that was a bit much. It wasn’t like Stiles was really a part of Derek’s life, let alone one of the joys in it. They had mainly been resentful acquaintances for the majority of the past year. 

 

Derek Hale: [20:20] Right. Because my life would be so much worse without a smart mouthed, foxy, wiseass weaseling his way into my pack when I wasn’t looking.

Stiles Stilinski: [Sent 20:21] I know that’s bullshit. And you just admitted I’m foxy. ☺

 

Stiles grinned down at his phone. It was so much fun to rile Derek up. He almost never realized when he was walking right into it. 

 

Derek Hale: [Received 20:24] I would never use the term foxy other than to describe an actual fox. Which you were. This morning. So yes, technically you are foxy.

 

Stiles’ grin faded some. Derek really knew how to suck the fun out of things.

 

Derek Hale: [Received 20: 25] I might go as far as cute. Yes. You’re cute. Like a puppy. That can’t walk more than three steps without falling over helplessly.

 

Stiles felt the blood rushing to his cheeks. Did Derek really just call him cute? He’s sure it was meant as a partial insult, but still. Derek had said he was cute. Like a puppy. Puppies are freaking adorable!

 

Stiles Stilinski: [Sent 20:27] You do realize puppies are freaking adorable right? As in everyone likes puppies. People stop in the street to coo at them and pet them. Is this your way of saying you want to pet me?

 

Stiles shuddered at the memory of Derek’s strong hands stroking his fur gently the night before. And earlier that morning. Had it really only been a day? He really needed to get some sleep. 

He flicked his computer shut and threw his phone over to his bed before getting up to change into pajamas. He tried to focus his hearing on his phone while he ran to the bathroom to brush his teeth, but he kept focusing in on random things, like the cat outside the window, or the fan of his computer still whirring, or the car backfiring down the street. There were too many distractions and his senses were too new. He shook himself and tried to let his hearing settle back to standard human level. Surprisingly, it actually did and he threw a fist in the air in victory and skipped back to his room. His phone was blinking at him from the bed: 3 new messages. The picture of Erica smiling tempestuously was even funnier compared to the picture of Derek scowling at the camera. 

 

Derek Hale: [Received 20:30] Go to sleep Stiles. 

Erica Reyes: [Received 20:41]] I forgot how much fun could be had on a big bed all by yourself. I really needed that release. I am gonna be well rested tomorrow. Hope you boys are having a nice and relaxing evening too. 

Derek Hale: [Received 20:42] What is wrong with our pack? Why is Erica sending me these things?

 

Stiles switched back and forth between the messages, grinning at both for completely different reasons. For one, Derek had just called it “our” pack, as in Stiles had some claim to it as well. So no matter what he had said before about Stiles weaseling into the pack without his consent, he had just admitted that he thought of him as pack too. Then there was Erica. She had just admitted to the entire pack that she had spent the evening masturbating. (Not that the thought hadn’t crossed Stiles’ mind as a useful way to spend his evening, but this was Erica. A girl. Who was admitting to masturbating.) She wasn’t even just admitting to it, but announcing it as if it were a totally normal topic among friends. Then again, he and Scott never exactly hid it from each other; maybe it was a normal topic in packs. Stiles assumed the advanced sense of smell would probably make it hard to hide anyways. Even so, he hadn’t expected such openness between the pack, and especially not with him. At least not so quickly. It was refreshing. 

And now that she’d mentioned it, he could go for a little one on one time with himself as well. He wrote Derek a quick response as he settled down into his mattress. 

 

Stiles Stilinski: [Sent 20:45] She’s just keeping her alpha informed. Can’t fault her for that. Besides, we’re teenagers, what did you expect? 

Stiles Stilinski: [Sent 20:46] Plus, it really is good for stress release. I should know. I’m an expert. 

 

Stiles laid his phone down and slid a hand beneath the waistband of his pajamas. Fortunately he had started sleeping commando since middle school and his loose pajamas gave him plenty of space to work. He wrapped his slender fingers around his flaccid dick and gave it a few gentle tugs. His stomach fluttered as his blood started moving south, the weight of his dick gradually increasing as it filled with heat. 

A quiet ‘ding’ caught his attention and he looked over at his phone: 1 New Message. 

There was no doubt in his mind that it was just Derek with some snarky response that could easily be ignored for another ten minutes, but some part of him, some strange and voyeuristic part thrilled at the idea of carrying on the conversation while jacking himself off. Even though Derek was the personification of sex, he was also the least sexual person Stiles knew. It felt like he could corrupt him subconsciously by continuing their messaging while he came to orgasm. Besides, it wasn’t like there was anything else exciting happening at the moment. He reached for the phone with one hand and the lotion in his nightstand with the other. 

 

Derek Hale: [Received: 20:49] Some information should be kept private. And I don’t remember being that up front about this stuff when I was a teenager. 

 

Stiles crafted his response one handed while pumping lotion into the other. 

 

Stiles Stilinski: [Sent 20:55] That’s because you lived with werewolves. They could probably smell you doing it. 

Stiles Stilinski: [Sent 20:55] Wait, CAN you actually smell when someone’s doing it?? 

Stiles Stilinski: [Sent 20:56] Either way, there’s nothing wrong with a little self-stimulation. You should try it sometime. It might wipe the perma-scowl off your face. ;)

 

He dropped his phone to his chest and resumed his stroking, letting his eyes drift shut as the sensation pulled at him. The slickness of the lotion forced him to tighten his grip, which in turn sent a new wave of heat through his body. It was remarkable how sensitive his body seemed, but then again this was the first time he’d been alone for days, so maybe it was a withdrawal type situation. 

His mind drifted as he pumped himself lazily. The image of Erica confidently teasing her shirt up her stomach, revealing toned pale flesh, flashed through his mind and he latched onto it. Erica had never really been on his radar until she was bitten and became a walking sex bomb and he had kicked himself for it when he found out about her crush. She was probably the only person who would have willingly slept with him at any point in his life and he had been blindsided by Lydia Martin for so long that he hadn’t even noticed. 

He replayed that morning’s strip-tease through his mind slowly, letting the anticipation build in his memory. His movements picked up speed as the Erica in his mind lifted her shirt above her sternum, revealing her perfectly imperfect breasts. Stiles’ breath hitched when he twisted his hand gently while he stroked his lotion-slicked dick, but the noise was one of frustration more than anything. For some reason the image of a naked Erica wasn’t enough. He respected her control of her own body, and while he would absolutely be up for any attention she decided to throw his way, it felt wrong to treat her like an accessory to his own pleasure. Even his erection seemed hesitant to reduce her to a sexual image. They were pack now. Friends even. It felt wrong. 

Another ding rang through his bedroom. He huffed out a sigh and looked down at his phone: 3 New Messages. Apparently he had been a little more distracted by his imagination than he thought. 

 

Derek Hale: [Received 21:00] I do not have a perma-scowl. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean. 

Derek Hale: [Received 21:04] And yes, we can smell it. Though most of us are considerate enough not to mention it. Otherwise it’d be hard to look any of you in the face day to day. 

Derek Hale: [Received 21:05] Trust me, I am well aware that you all enjoy your alone time a little too frequently.

 

Stiles gaped down at the message. Did Derek just admit that he could smell when they had been masturbating? There was barely a day that went by when Stiles wasn’t getting himself off and he knew for a fact that Scott was hardly any better, even with an on-again-off-again girlfriend. He felt the heat rising in his cheeks. How DID Derek manage to look them in the face when he could smell that they had literally just been jerking off moments before a meeting?

Stiles released him dick and sat there frozen in embarrassment. He wondered vaguely if he would be able to sense it by smell alone. His eyes closed as he breathed in deeply through his nose, picking apart the scents he could recognize. The lotion was technically unscented, but it was still the strongest scent he could decipher, apart from his own sweat. There was a tangy, salty scent in the air mixed with a musky sweet scent that he couldn’t quite place. He assumed the mystery scent was arousal and made a mental note to look for again in the future. Nothing seemed entirely overwhelming or obvious, but his senses weren’t exactly calibrated yet. 

He picked his phone back up just as another message came in.

 

Derek Hale: [Received 21:10] Not that there is anything wrong with…taking care of yourself. It is a proven method of stress relief and I am painfully aware of how stressed things have been lately. 

 

Again Stiles stared at the phone blankly. Was Derek trying to say that he approved of this particular method of stress relief? More importantly, did Derek just unwittingly admit to using said method? 

Stiles flushed at the thought of Derek’s hand wrapped around his dick, working himself to a howling orgasm. Then again, he probably jacked off as angrily as he did everything else, hunched over and scowling the whole time, angry that his dick wouldn’t just cooperate and finish already. A giggle bubbled up in Stiles chest, threatening to burst out. 

Suddenly he remembered the sight that had woken him earlier that day: Derek’s tented plaid pajama pants quivering lightly as his breath moved across them. Heat seared through his body as the image of Derek’s perfectly bared erection played through his head. Derek had been so casual about it, like it wasn’t completely weird to see your friends’ junk standing at attention 4 inches from your face first thing in the morning. Stiles had definitely gotten a very good look from his vantage point. His breath hitched in his lungs and a spark of interest shot straight through his groin at the memory. Derek’s dick seemed a bit shorter than his own, but it had a significantly larger girth. While Stiles’ dick was as smooth and pale as the rest of him (up until the deep red of the head), Derek’s was darker and veiny, and the purplish head was almost completely concealed by the wrinkled foreskin. Stiles didn’t know why he found foreskin so intriguing, but he had ever since he had researched the history of the male circumcision and realized he didn’t have any foreskin of his own.

He realized that his hand had absently snaked its way back around his own erection and had resumed its lazy stroking. His grip fluctuated with each pass, drawing out as many sensations as he could. A picture of Derek wrapping his strong, clawed hand around his own thick dick, supplied by his overzealous imagination, had his grip tightening involuntarily on the next stroke. He felt a bead of precome slipped out and over his fingers. 

He inhaled deeply and caught an overwhelming whiff of the mysterious musky sweet scent. His curiosity got the better or him and he grabbed his phone to compose another message.

 

Stiles Stilinski: [Sent 21:15] What does it smell like? 

 

The phone dropped back down to his chest as he reached down to switch hands. It was a strange habit he had picked up in his adolescence. He had been known for spraining wrists and breaking bones or otherwise incapacitating at least one arm at a time as a child. When he hit puberty and realized how much fun he could have playing with himself, he figured out the hard way that it’s not as much fun when your dominant hand was in a sling. Since then he had always been a switch hitter, slowly working his left hand up to the same level of efficiency as his right, in case future sprains and breaks left him temporarily one armed. He may not have the super fine motor skills trained in his left hand, but he’s still much closer to ambidextrous than any of his friends. 

He breathed out a shaky sigh as his left hand gripped the base of his dick and pulled forward, twisting up the shaft before sliding back down, sending a shudder of pleasure up his spine. His right arm lay limp at his side, stretching aimlessly, muscles appreciative of the break. His breathing turned shallow as his left hand picked up speed, mind turning back to the image of Derek stripping his own cock with precision. Stiles tried to imagine Derek going red, keening and writhing in pleasure at his own hand, but he just couldn’t picture it. Instead his mind supplied him with the thought of Derek standing in a shower stall, hunched forward slightly, water cascading down his body, rippling over the cords of muscle that made up his body, one arm planted on the wall above his head as the other stroked his dick furiously. A spark of pleasure flashed through him at the thought. He pictured Derek lifting up onto his toes as his own pleasure fired through him. His own dick gave an eager twitch in his hand. 

The phone on his chest dinged. 2 New Messages.

 

Derek Hale: [Received 21:20] Why do you even want to know? Actually, I don’t care. The feeling itself is kind of a musky version of a person’s normal scent.

Derek Hale: [Received 21:22] But you can also smell any…fluids. They tend to be saltier. Tangy. Kind of unpleasant, unless that person is a good physical match to you. That’s why werewolf couples tend to be permanent. They can tell straight away whether they’ll connect with a person. 

 

Stiles thought for a moment before responding. He hit send before he could change his mind. 

 

Stiles Stilinski: [Sent 21:25] What do I smell like? 

 

His hand had slowed to a near stop while he played with his phone, but it picked right back up as he clicked send, heart beating faster in anticipation. He didn’t know why, but a trill of excitement was coursing through his veins. He felt like he had the first time he told Scott he had a crush on Lydia, like he was revealing a huge secret while simultaneously waiting to be judged for it. The excitement only seemed to make his dick more interested; it pulsed happily in his hand as his fingers wrapped tightly around it. He reached down with his other hand to cup his balls, noticing them start to tighten as he kneaded his fingers into the tender flesh. A fiery heat ignited in his gut as pleasure shot through his every nerve, sending waves of sparks all through his body. The salty, tangy precome was steadily leaking out and over his fingers, adding more slickness to his shaft with each stroke.

His phone chimed. Stiles released his balls and glanced quickly at the message

Derek Hale: [Received 21:27] Anxiety mostly. And honeysuckle. And a little bit burnt now, but I’m pretty sure that’s the fox part. It’s a weird combination, but it somehow works for you.

 

Stiles dropped the phone and returned his attention to the fast approaching orgasm he could feel curling his gut. It was still a little fun that Derek had no idea that Stiles was actively jerking off as they carried on their conversation, but it wasn’t quite the turn on he had expected. Maybe if they were actually on the phone, talking, and he could hear Derek’s rough grumpy voice and exasperated sighs. And Derek could hear Stiles’ breathy moans cutting into the conversation, distracting them both to the point of no return, until Derek’s voice went breathy and pained as well. He groaned in desperation, unbelievably turned on by the imagined moans in his head. 

Wait, what? When had this turned into a ‘Derek’s voice is a turn-on’ situation? There weren’t supposed to be feelings here. This was meant to be a little thrilling and naughty ‘carrying on conversation while orgasming’ situation. Stiles just thought it would be more fun with Derek because he was so stiff all the time. 

Ok, poor choice of words. Stiles mind raced back to the image of Derek in a shower stall, hand wrapped around himself, leaning up on his toes, dick twitching in expectation. He pictured Derek throwing his head back and letting out a howl of pleasure, fangs glistening in the light, as his orgasm ripped through him, painting the walls of the shower with ropes of semen. 

Stiles forced his lungs to breathe as his balls tightened, release imminent. 

His mind snapped to attention as his phone dinged from the center of his chest.

Every fiber of his being screamed at him to ignore it; his orgasm was right there. But he was never one to listen to peer pressure, even when it was coming from himself. He hand worked furiously as pulled up the message and his jaw dropped.

 

Derek Hale: [Received 21:30] You smell better than most. Actually you smell…good.

 

Stiles’ mind reeled with the implications of the comment, but his dick quickly took over control as pleasure flooded his system and his orgasm tore through him. His hand continued to stroke carelessly as his dick emptied onto his stomach. The hot, sticky fluids pooled at his belly button, giving off the salty/tangy aroma Derek had mentioned. The room was filled with the musky sweet scent of honeysuckle and lust. Stiles let one arm drape over his eyes while casually stroked himself back down to flaccid. He could still smell tiny traces of the pack on his skin, even through the scent of his own sweat and arousal. His nose picked out the scent of Derek easily, the feeling of home adding to the already blissed out sensation of post orgasm. 

He lay there happily for a few minutes, completely sated, until the cooling semen on his stomach became uncomfortable. He grabbed a shirt from the floor, suddenly too tired to get up, and wiped himself clean. He pulled his covers over himself and settled back into the mattress, surprisingly ready for sleep.

As he drifted off to sleep he abruptly realized that his eyes had been glued to the image of Derek on his phone the entire time he came.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a quick chapter since I'm gonna be pretty busy this weekend and might forget to post. 
> 
> But fear not, I have more ready to go early next week! 
> 
> Thanks again for all your comments and kudos. It definitely makes me happy that I'm not just writing this for myself. (If I was, it would never get anywhere. Hahah.)

Stiles woke with start, heart pounding in his chest, blood roaring in his ears. A screeching noise screamed in his ears, sending piercing pain throughout his body. He wrenched himself upright, sending his covers scattering to the floor. His eyes focused and unfocused rapidly as he scanned the room, desperately searching for the source of the sound. The screeching was getting louder. His eyes began to water from the pain piercing through his eardrums. A voice in his head was telling him to run, to hide, but he knew that would be pointless. Something had to be making that noise. 

A flash of light at the edge of his night stand caught his attention and he looked down to see his phone alarm blinking at him. He scrambled to swipe the screen and ended up knocking over his lamp and the lotion bottle, but as soon as his thumb hit the touch screen, the piercing noise stopped. 

“You have got to be kidding me,” he groaned out on a sigh, waiting for his heart to stop racing. The new hearing was definitely going to take some time to get used to. 

Stiles rushed through his morning routine, taking a few awkward moments to get used to the overly strong smells that seemed to be coming from everything in his house from his toothpaste to his laundry bin. The scents of the pack still lingered on his skin enough that he considered not showering, but he eventually vetoed the idea after realizing he could also still smell the salty residue from the night before, and that he hadn’t showered since the day before he was bitten. 

As he wandered through his kitchen contemplating what to make for breakfast, his eyes were drawn to the birds flitting around the kitchen window. There was an urge rising in his gut to attack. His eyes darted back and forth as the birds taunted him, jumping onto the windowsill, staring at him with beady eyes, picking at his grass. His hands clenched into fists at his side as he bit back at the instinct to pounce.

Which ended up lasting about thirty seconds. Stiles tore out his front door, jumping down the steps, and racing around the side of the house. The birds fled as soon as he cornered the house, but Stiles continued to lay chase, leaping into the air in an attempt to catch those still fleeing. He pranced around his yard in delight while his neighbor threw him a concerned glance from her kitchen window. 

He was still honest-to-god frolicking through his yard when he noticed a dark shape in the tree line that stopped him in his tracks. The shape shifted slightly, moving further behind the trees, clearly startled at being noticed. Stiles legs froze him in place, his heart pounding so hard he thought he might pass out. Unfortunately his kitchen faced the side of the house so neither of the doors was near enough for him to duck inside quickly. His nose filled with the acrid scent of fear and panic. He chanced a small step backwards, eyes never leaving the shadow in the woods, testing to see what it would do. He blinked slowly and the shape seemed to disappear. His eyes focused in on the space it had been in, desperately searching for any sign of it. The hairs on his arms and neck had crept up to attention, sending electrical signals throughout his body. He needed to run away. 

A small voice in his mind counted slowly from 1 to 3 before screaming ‘NOW’. Stiles turned on the spot and bolted for the front door, the pounding of his footsteps ringing through his ears. He leapt to his door, hand shaking as he reached for the handle. His heart stopped. In the corner of his eye, he could see the shadow hovering behind him.

His mind flooded with fear as he tried to work out his options. If this was the witch, he was dead. If this was a hunter, he was dead. If this was the werefox, he was potentially dead. His prospects did not look good.

He breathed in a shaky breath, trying to force his heart to start beating again. He felt his lungs painfully fill with air as a scent crossed his nose. A familiar scent. 

Burning. 

Wait, not burning. Already burnt. Burnt and smoky, and pine. Stiles closed his eyes and swore in his head. If this was Derek creeping around his house at 7 in the morning, the alpha would be the dead one. He turned slowly and opened his eyes to see the brooding werewolf standing behind him looking sheepishly at the window.

“I am going to kill you,” Stiles screamed, releasing the door and spinning around to face Derek. He planted his feet and threw a punch into the alpha’s arm. 

Derek actually stumbled backwards, not enough to lose his balance or footing, but his weight definitely shifted. Stiles saw it. Stiles had done that. That was a first. He shook the surprise from his face and glared at the older man.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing creeping around the woods behind my house at 7 in the freaking morning?” Derek still looked shocked that Stiles was able to push him. His mouth hung open, gaping for a moment before answering.

“I was keeping watch. Making sure nothing had tracked you home. We decided it was best not to leave you alone for now,” he announced. A spike of panic flared in Stiles’ gut. How long had Derek been out there? Had he been stalking the house last night while they were texting too? Had Derek heard him quietly call out his name when he came? He forced the thought from his mind, fighting the blush that was spreading up his neck.

“Who’s we? And why was I not included in this discussion,” Stiles demanded.

“I messaged Scott last night and told him to let you sleep. He called me to see how researching had gone,” Derek responded petulantly. Stiles stared at him, open mouthed, for a moment.

“Since when do you and Scott talk,” he asked skeptically. The last he had heard, they were barely allies, let alone friends, definitely not on the “let me keep you up to date on info sharing” track. Derek just frowned at him. 

“It may surprise you to know this, but we are able to put differences aside when a mutual friend is in danger. It’s in all our best interest to work together. And he knows that.” Stiles opened his mouth, ready with a snarky comment, but shut it closed with a snap as the words sunk in. 

“You…you consider us friends?” Stiles tried to look Derek in the eye as he asked the question, but his embarrassment got the better of him. His gaze drifted down to where his hands were subtly twisting in the hem of his shirt. He could smell a strange scent drifting off of Derek, something oddly like wet dog. He looked up to see Derek’s eyes avoiding his. Derek’s ears started to turn pink at the edges and Stiles could feel more than see the heat spreading across his cheeks. 

“I, uh,” Derek stammered, “Well, I mean, we’ve saved each other’s lives a few times, it seems kind of weird to call you an associate at that point.” Stiles could tell Derek was biting the inside of his lip to stop himself from rambling and a small smile pulled at his own lips. It was strangely comforting to know that he wasn’t the only one who fought the urge to ramble from time to time. He shook his thoughts back to the topic at hand reached back blindly to open the door. 

“Well, I still need to get ready for school, and your little stalker shenanigans are probably going to make me late,” he chided. “You planning on following me to school too?”

Derek’s eyes drifted back up to Stiles’ face, trying to read whether Stiles was actually annoyed by the prospect. What he saw was amusement and disbelief more than annoyance, accompanied by the cockiest smirk he had ever seen. It shouldn’t have been as comforting as it was, but somehow that smirk managed to untie a dozen knots in his stomach. His face softened and he nodded once. Stiles sighed dramatically, but pushed the door open, swinging his arm back in invitation.

“You might as well wait inside then. You can finish making my breakfast while I get dressed,” he teased as he traipsed back into the house. Derek followed quietly, pulling the door shut behind him. 

“Sounds fair,” he agreed, forcing Stiles to stop dead in surprise. He turned to look at Derek, eyes wide and disbelieving. 

“Although,” Derek continued, “I’m pretty sure dancing with the birds probably wasted more time than me hiding in the woods.” Stiles skittered backwards, mouth gaping, trying to formulate any rationale for his behavior. Derek just smirked and pushed past him into the kitchen. 

He could still hear Stiles gaping behind him as he took in the sight of Stiles’ attempted breakfast. Poptarts barely counted as food to a normal palate, but with enhanced senses, the processed junk was going to be taste like cardboard and cough syrup. 

“You’re getting an egg sandwich for breakfast,” Derek called out to Stiles where he remained frozen in the entryway. “You’ve only got about ten minutes before it’s ready.”

He was rewarded with the sound of Stiles jogging up the stairs in a hurry while he ducked his head into the refrigerator looking for cheese and eggs. He wouldn’t say he was a good cook, but he knew enough to get by, and he had always been more attuned to flavors since he could smell every ingredient in his food. He listened to Stiles scampering around his room, gathering books and trying to find shoes and a hoodie that didn’t smell ripe. Derek did not envy him that rude awakening. Teenage boys did not tend to smell good, therefore their clothes tended to smell even worse. Especially when they were rarely washed. 

He quickly tossed together some cheesy scrambled eggs and set about making a cup of coffee and some toast. Although he knew Stiles was serious about keeping his dad’s health in check, he was surprised at how healthy the options were around their kitchen. 

Derek was screwing the lid onto the coffee cup just as Stiles thundered down the stairs. He shoved the cup into Stiles’ hand and turned to fish the toast out of the toaster and cover it with cheesy eggs. As he wrapped the sandwich in a paper towel he heard a gasp behind him and turned to see Stiles lowering the coffee cup from his lips with a puzzled look on his face.

“How did you know how to make my coffee? Even my dad can’t make it right,” Stiles asked. Derek tried not to let the heat fill his cheeks again. He may have tried some of the coffee Stiles had brought to a pack meeting one night when he wasn’t looking. He could always smell coffee on the boy, but it was never just coffee. It drove him crazy that he couldn’t figure out what the hell Stiles mixed into. It turned out to be two tablespoons of sugar, a half-teaspoon of cinnamon, a swig of cream, and a dash of vanilla. Derek had personally tested his concoction this morning to make sure it was right. Stiles was still staring at him and he realized he had yet to answer the boy.

“I, uh, guessed,” he attempted lamely. “I mean I figured it out. I could smell it whenever you had coffee. Enhanced smell, remember?” He tapped his nose for added emphasis. 

Stiles didn’t seem entirely sold on this answer, but he didn’t push for another one. He just breathed in deeply, letting the scents of the coffee fill his nose. He could smell all of them individually, but they were tinged with a sour tang wafting across the room from Derek. If Stiles had to put a name to it, he’d say it was guilt. He shrugged his shoulders and took another sip of the perfect coffee. It was such a good way to start the day. Derek just shuffled on his feet before glancing at the clock and tossing the sandwich at Stiles.

“Better get going,” Derek announced, “or you’re going to be late.” Stiles sighed and frowned at the clock. Derek would never admit that he found it charming. 

“Alright,” Stiles whined, “Let’s go. You can drive me. It has been a weird morning and my nerves are kind of screwy, so I probably shouldn’t drive…For my own safety and all.” He tossed a wink in Derek’s direction and headed for the door. 

Derek stayed frozen in the kitchen. How many times could Stiles wink at him before he completely lost his cool? He was starting to think the answer was one. He readjusted himself before stepping out of the kitchen and following Stiles to his Jeep. Stiles tossed the keys back to Derek and jumped in the passenger seat, eyeing the sandwich in his hands eagerly. Derek hadn’t thought he was serious about being chauffeured to school, but he supposed he would still be watching him, so he went with it.

Stiles was mainly quiet during the ride. The only noises he did seem to make were the pornographic moans he let slip whenever he bit into the sandwich. 

“Derek, I don’t know how you were able to make cheese, eggs, and bread taste this damn good, but I am officially going to need you to make me breakfast every day for the rest of my life.” He let loose another moan for emphasis and Derek had to suppress a growl of interest from his wolf.

He focused on the road, gripping the wheel a little too tightly, and tried to steady his breathing. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the way Stiles was licking at his lips after every bite and sip. There was no way he actually ate like that; slowly tonguing the food into his mouth on every bite, pouting into his coffee cup and sighing deeply contented sighs with every sip. Derek really hoped Stiles was too distracted by the food to notice how tight the center of Derek’s pants had gotten. 

Stiles had been eating so sensually that he was only half finished by the time Derek pulled the jeep into the parking lot. He still had a couple minutes before the bell rang, so Derek figured he could finish before going in. 

Stiles however, turned to face him as soon as the jeep was in park. He offered the sandwich to Derek, who frowned at it.

“It’s your breakfast, what are you doing,” Derek asked. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Derek, I could see you shifting in your seat the entire ride here; your stomach has been growling since we left the house. And you probably spent the entire night outside my window reciting Romeo and Juliet in your head. So you haven’t eaten and you’re hungry. I’m offering you half. It’s only fair, I mean you did make it,” Stiles lectured. 

Derek just shook his head, trying to push the food back. He was silently thanking whoever was in charge of Stiles’ thought process for convincing the boy that it was Derek’s stomach growling instead of the lusty wolf in his head. 

“You need it more than I do. Besides, I can get food later, it’s fine,” he rebuked. Stiles just stared at him, eyebrows flattening out in that hard, serious line they had been when he was with the werefox.

“You’re probably going to be prowling around the school all day, like a creep, because you don’t trust any of the betas to keep a sharp enough eye out. So no, you’re not going to get food later. You’re going to throw yourself a pity party as you skulk around scaring away neighborhood cats with the symphony coming from your gut.” 

Derek’s frown turned into a scowl. Just because he had fully intended to watch the school all day, doesn’t mean Stiles can make fun of him for it. He does trust his betas, but it’s hard to be attuned to everything inside and outside of a bustling building. Stiles continued to stare at him as the warning bell rang. He groaned emphatically and fit the coffee cup back into the cup holder, reaching forward to take his keys out of the ignition. 

“I’m at least leaving you some coffee. You probably didn’t sleep last night, so you’ll need it if you want to be our daytime Batman,” Stiles said casually as he opened his door. 

Just as Derek reached down to pick up the cup, Stiles surged forward, leaning over the center console, and planted a sloppy kiss to Derek’s cheek. Derek’s mouth fell open in shock as Stiles lips brushed against his stubbled face. He felt the leftover sandwich being forced into his open mouth and bit down quickly to keep it from falling. Stiles chuckled at the reflex and, just as quickly, leaned back out of the car and started jogging to the building. 

“Thanks for breakfast! Enjoy your half,” he yelled back, cheerfully waving from the top of the steps. Derek just remained frozen, sandwich hanging out of his mouth, stomach turning over in quick sickening movements, ears burning bright red. He could feel the ghost of Stiles’ lips still pressed against his check. The boy’s scent filled the air around him. His jeans were pressing painfully against his near full erection. His wolf was grumbling contentedly, thrilled that Stiles had marked him again, even more thrilled that Stiles had fed him. It was a sign of protection, compassion, caring for the pack…a sign of dominance. The alpha in Derek should have been furious that Stiles had dared to assert any form of dominance over him, but he could feel it, rubbing against the inside of his chest, almost purring with delight. None of this made sense. 

He took the sandwich out of his mouth and spent a moment finding Stiles’ heartbeat in the school. His shock had made him slip and he’d lost the sound when Stiles entered the building. But he found it almost immediately, slightly faster, slightly quieter than those around him. Derek listened for the rest of the pack. He could already smell their scents mingling in the air around him. One by one, he found his pack, all safe, all happy. 

As the next bell rang Derek realized he’d been sitting in a high school parking lot for over 15 minutes. He scarfed down the sandwich and picked up the coffee. It was still a little hot for his liking, he’d avoided anything too hot since the fire, but he downed it in two gulps anyway. He could taste Stiles on the rim of the cup and his wolf howled quietly, calling out for his…his what? Pack? Alpha? His Stiles? Derek didn’t stop to think about it. He threw the cup back in the holder and darted for the tree line, preparing himself for his first of many rounds for the day.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...how about that Echo House episode?
> 
> I'm just going to ignore all the really terrible shit they pulled with that by posting a really long chapter here for you all to enjoy! (Or not enjoy, it's up to you.)
> 
> Thanks again for all the kudos and comments. You are the best cheerleaders.

Throughout the day Stiles sporadically caught sight of movement outside the windows of his classes. Each time he had to fight the urge to flee. He would focus his vision and try to see what was out there, but most of the time it was a bird or a squirrel, or, during one memorable period, Derek being chased back into the woods by the security guard. He had gotten a text message shortly after that one announcing that Derek was sticking to the woods for now, but everything seemed to be clear, so there was no need to worry. Stiles had sent back a picture of the guard prowling around the classroom window with the message “I think your new best friend misses you.” He swore he could hear Derek grumble, even from the woods. 

Actually, he swore he could hear everything. His ears were attuned to every little sound and it was driving him crazy. He kept hearing lockers slam from across the building, people shouting out on the track, chalk screeching down the board of every single classroom. The cell phone buzzing never seemed to stop. There was always at least one going off somewhere, every second of the day. Every time a book cover slapped shut, he would jump and be halfway to running before he even realized what he was doing. Thankfully he had at least one pack member in most of his classes; each time he freaked out they would calmly place a hand on his arm and let him breathe in their calming scents. It would work to calm him right down every time, at least for a little while.

By the time lunch rolled around, Stiles needed to get out. He waited for Scott outside of his English class, hoping to catch him here rather than the cafeteria, which would just have too much noise and too many smells. He was so preoccupied with trying to shut his hearing down that he almost missed Scott as he dashed out of the classroom. 

“Hey,” he called out, grabbing at Scott’s arm, “I think I’m gonna head out to the bleachers for lunch.” Scott gave him a withering look that said he clearly didn’t like the idea of Stiles being out in the open, alone. “Don’t worry, dude, I know Derek is still circling the school. I just…I can’t imagine sitting in the cafeteria right now. I can already smell the kitchens from here and it is honestly ruining my appetite. I may never be able to eat in school again.”

Scott softened a bit, understandingly. He remembered how hard those first few days of the new senses were. He gave Stiles a slap on the shoulder and pushed him towards the door. 

“Go ahead, man. I’ll catch up in a bit,” Scott decided.

Stiles practically skipped to the door, excited to escape the full on assault on his senses that school had become. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he could breathe easier. There were still a lot of noises outside, but they were quieter, less sharp. The comforting sounds of wind rustling leaves and birds chattering quietly were heavenly compared to the cacophony of high school. He closed his eyes and inhaled until his lungs felt like they could burst, reveling in the scent of grass and trees, and smoky pine. 

Stiles opened his eyes and scanned the tree line for Derek. He had to be around somewhere, Stiles could smell him. How weird was that? He checked for any sign of movement, but found none. Derek was too good at going unobserved, probably in an attempt to make up for his indiscretion that morning. 

Stiles meandered to the bleachers and sprawled out across the bottom three rows. He was reaching into his book bag when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. He could tell someone was watching him, but he couldn’t tell where they were. Slowly, he raised his head and started to scan the area. But before he had even managed to get halfway through the field in front of him, Derek appeared at his left. Stiles pretended that he didn’t jump at the sudden intrusion; Derek was polite enough to go along with it. Without a single word of greeting Derek claimed a spot next to Stiles, bumping into him with his shoulder as he sat, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders drain with the familiar gesture. 

Stiles relaxed back against Derek’s shoulder and bit into an apple he had procured from his bag. They sat silently for a few moments, watching the clouds float lazily across the sky, smelling the scents drifting by on the breeze. 

“So,” Stiles started, turning his face to look up at Derek’s sour expression with a grin, “How’s the bestie?” Derek let out a truly theatrical sigh before turning his scowl at Stiles. 

“The only reason he saw me was because I was distracted. I could smell you panicking all the way from the woods. I was afraid you were going to do something stupid, like change in front of all your classmates,” Derek explained in a huff, crossing his arms in front of himself defensively. Stiles just laughed and nudged him in the ribs with his elbow.

“Oh come on, don’t pout Sourwolf. I know you’re out here trying to keep the world safe,” Stiles joked. He let the smile fall from his face and looked away for a moment before continuing. “I do appreciate it, you know? I know I was freaking out a bit earlier, but I mean, I can hear and smell and see so much more now. Things just got a bit intense. Some sounds come in a lot louder than others and I get surprised. There were a couple times I actually ended up standing, ready to run, before I’d even realized it. Your pack has helped to keep me in check all day, so, uh, thanks for them…being like that. I assume that had something to do with your, leadership.”

Derek looked back at Stiles, finally taking in the haze of fear that must have been clinging to him all day. He could faintly smell the pack’s scents layered into the fear, as if they had all been physically reassuring Stiles throughout the day. He could feel a sense of pride swelling in him; they may have all been lost causes when he brought them into the pack, but they were starting to show him that they were more than capable of handling themselves. They had actually been more accepting of bringing Stiles into the pack than he had. Derek had noticed them all subconsciously scenting him the entire time they had been at the library, before very obviously doing so as they all left. 

Derek unfurled his arms and wrapped one cautiously around Stiles’ shoulders. It took him a moment, but Stiles eventually relaxed into the comforting weight. 

“They’re your pack too, you know?” Derek looked at him seriously, waiting for a reaction. Stiles just stayed still and quiet for a moment. 

“”Foxes don’t have packs,” he practically whispered sadly, “They have families.” 

It was Derek’s turn to stiffen. He closed his eyes, trying to force down the tidal wave of feelings that word tended to bring up in him. Family was something Derek desperately wanted. He knew pack was similar to family, but it wasn’t quite the same. Not yet. He let out a shallow breath and felt the heat of Stiles against his arm. It was the calmest he’d ever seen the boy, no fidgeting, no leg jittering, no word vomit spewing from his mouth; just broken, cautious words. And a faint trace of hope. 

“Maybe we can be that too,” Derek whispered back. He could feel his wolf curling up inside of him, rubbing against every point of contact between him and Stiles. At least that part of him was happy with the idea of Stiles being family. 

Stiles could feel a warmth spreading through him and he felt like purring with happiness. That was a new sensation. For the first time in two days, he felt okay with the way things were now. He let his head fall back onto Derek’s arm and closed his eyes, letting the scent of Derek and pack, and home, wrap around him. It was amazing how much Derek could smell like himself and the pack at the same time. It was almost like they were all here with them and it felt amazing. 

“Ahem,” a throat cleared in front of them. Stiles’ eyes shot open at the unexpected sound. He saw Erica standing in front of him, hand planted firmly on her cocked hip, crooked grin plastered on her face. Boyd stood behind her, somehow holding three trays of food from the cafeteria. Stiles could see Isaac making his way over with another two trays, trailed by Scott with two more.

“Jesus, how much food do you guys eat,” Stiles asked incredulously, trying to distract the pack from the fact that he was curled into Derek’s side like a puppy. He had noticed that werewolves tended to eat a little bit more than people, but this was a little ridiculous. 

“Well fine, if you want us to take yours back…” Isaac taunted, but Stiles was on his feet in a second, rushing forward to grab the food. 

“Ohmygod, you got me food!? You are officially my favorite,” Stiles praised, practically jumping on the second tray in Isaac’s hand. He heard a snort of laughter behind him, but he just flipped his middle finger in the general direction. “It’s not my fault half of my breakfast was donated to a surly stalker who spent the entire morning prowling around the school like some criminal.”

Four sets of eyes fell on Derek who, to his credit, did not react at all. He wasn’t sure if any of the wolves really knew what sharing food meant, but he wasn’t about to tell them now. 

“In any case,” Erica announced, plopping into the bleachers above Derek and handing him a spare tray of food, “it’s time for some pack loving. I could feel your nerves no matter where I was today and I need a cool down.” Boyd and Isaac followed her, fanning out behind where Derek and Stiles had been. Scott sidled up to Stiles as he sat back down, leaving his spare tray off to the side.

“Wait, who’s that for,” Stiles asked Scott. 

“Dude, we’re werewolves,” he scoffed, “and a werefox, apparently; we all want a second helping of at least one part of a meal. Erica gets the roll, Boyd likes the dessert, I typically take the tater tots, and Isaac gets the meat. That leaves the veggies for you, which is perfect since you just LOVE veggies.” Scott wiggled his eyebrows as he finished his explanation. Stiles just rolled his eyes. Although, he thought the division of food was rather admirable. Isaac was still a bit weaker than the rest of the pack, so they gave him the protein. And Erica had always shied away from breads because the yeast could react badly to her meds and set off seizures. It made sense that she would enjoy it now, since she could. Scott and Boyd were just secretly 5 years old and liked sweets and tater tots. 

“Jokes on you, I do love veggies,” Stiles countered, “but fortunately, I have some fruit with me, so you can give my veggies to Derek.”

Derek sniffed in the direction of the veggies and pulled a face. 

“I’m not sure these canned things can even be called vegetables anymore,” Derek said loftily. 

“Of course not,” Stiles mocked, “that’s why we’re calling them veggies. They’re close, but not really vegetables.”

Derek stared at them all, trying to figure out if they were serious. Scott started laughing first, but soon all of the betas were giggling. Stiles remained serious, trying his hardest not let his glare slip. He blindly speared a carrot with his plastic spork and started making airplane noises, drawing the fork up to Derek’s mouth in a winding motion. 

“Come on, Der-bear,” he chastened, “you want to grow up big and strong don’t you? You have to eat your veggies.” Derek’s blank stare turned into a full-blown scowl, pressing his lips together grumpily. Scott and Erica dissolved into full-scale laughter. Isaac and Boyd watched eagerly, waiting to see how much Stiles could get away with before the alpha snapped. Stiles managed to get the carrot all the way up to Derek’s lips before the alpha turned away huffily and batted the spork away. 

Stiles finally broke down and laughed at Derek’s stubbornness. Derek glared at him as he went back to eating his lunch with his fingers, spork forgotten on the ground. Derek watched his long fingers absently pulling apart the chicken nuggets on his tray, swirling them in sauce before lifting them to his delicate mouth. He caught Isaac watching him and quickly shifted his attention elsewhere. Anywhere else was better than this. The lunch period passed quickly with the pack genially bumping into each other, grabbing food from all the trays at random, and tossing it into one another’s mouths. Boyd was surprisingly good at catching bits of food. Isaac, however, was miserable and missed every piece thrown to him, which everyone reminded him of constantly. Derek looked away when it was Stiles’ turn to catch. He couldn’t bear to look at his mouth propped open, waiting for something to fill it. And he could definitely think of a few things that could fill - No. That train of thought needed to stop right there. 

All too soon it was time for them to head back in. They collected trays and started back inside in pairs. Scott and Isaac took the trays back in while Boyd and Erica waited to escort Stiles, who remained on the bleachers eating his brownie with deliberate precision. He had picked the thing apart into tiny bite-sized pieces, trying to make it last as long as possible, until he was left with one, perfect, bite-sized morsel. He slowly raised it to his mouth, ready to enjoy his last bite as much as possible. But before his fingers could reach his own mouth, Derek leaned forward and grabbed the morsel with his teeth, licking the crumbs off Stiles’ fingers as he pulled back, chewing victoriously. Stiles just stared at him, cheeks flushing red. Derek could smell the tang of arousal wafting off of him, mixed with the scent of pure shock. The alpha flashed his wolfiest grin and jumped up, running off to the tree line without a second look back. 

Stiles sat for a moment, baffled and confused by what had just happened. Was that Derek being playful? Was there a playful side to Derek? Did anyone else know about this? 

“Did anyone else see that,” Stiles asked dubiously. Erica unwrapped herself from where she had been entwined in Boyd’s arms. 

“See what,” she asked sheepishly. Boyd didn’t respond, but the look on his face said that he had definitely seen what happened, he was just trying to not have a reaction to it at all. 

“Nothing I guess,” Stiles answered. He gathered his bag and walked over to join them. Surprisingly Boyd pulled away from Erica and threw an arm over Stiles’ shoulders while Erica stepped up on his other side and looped her arm into his as they headed back to class. It felt nice. Not quite as nice as Derek had, but it was comforting and felt like family. And that was enough. 

_________

 

The rest of the day passed in relative comfort. Since they all shared the last lunch period, they only actually had one class left to go to, and it happened to be one that they were in together. Stiles never realized how weird it was that they actually all shared a class. Fortunately it was an easy computer science class, but unfortunately that meant they wouldn’t be able to talk over the monitors on the spread out computer desks. However, this fact never did anything to actually stop their communications; they simply moved them to the computer. 

Stiles and Scott took their usual seats next to each other in the back of the room. A message flashed onto Stiles’ screen as soon as he signed in.

 

EReyes: Hey sexy ;)

 

Stiles scanned the room, looking for her and the rest of the pack, before responding. He didn’t know why, but it comforted him to know where exactly they were. He caught Erica’s frizzy blonde mop of hair a few desks down from him in the row just in front of his own. She was sitting across from Boyd, whose feet were tangling with hers under the desks. Isaac was in the corner desk at the front of the room, closest to the door. His face was neutral, but Stiles could swear he smelled the sadness coming off of the boy at being separated from the rest of them. Stiles sat back down and sent a quick response to Erica. 

 

Stilinski24: Hey yourself. Do me a favor? Can you scare Germaine away from the computer next to you?

EReyes: …why?

Stilinski24: So we can stop Isaac from crying at the thought of being so far away from us. 

 

Isaac turned around to face them as Erica’s laugh rang through the classroom. He watched as Erica propped her elbows on the desk, arms crossed under her bust, putting her rather ample chest on display as she turned to face the boy next to her. The slight boy’s jaw dropped involuntarily and he shrank back into his chair. 

Germaine was one of the less confident boys in their class. Most people didn’t even know he existed, let alone what his name was. Stiles only knew because he happened to be a player in the online RPG he played. Stiles focused his ears and tried to listen in to what Erica was whispering salaciously to the now visibly terrified boy. It was surprisingly easy to pick out her voice. Maybe that was a pack thing.

“Hey big guy,” she whispered breathily, “Could you do me a tiny favor? You see, my friend Boyd here, well, he bet Isaac over there that I could get him off in class without getting caught, which I’m absolutely sure I can.” Germaine’s eyes widened in shock, glancing quickly between Boyd’s placid face and Erica’s mischievous one. “But as you can see, Boyd is of the strong silent type, so unless Isaac is close enough to see us, he’s not going to know whether we cheated and will inevitably back out of the bet and I could really use the money right now. And the bragging rights,” she added with a wink. 

Stiles shoved his fist into his mouth to stop himself from laughing outright. He told Erica to scare the kid, not traumatize him. Isaac was still watching from the front of the room, eyes widening and jaw slowly falling open. 

“So do you think,” Erica asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes, “that maybe you could switch seats with him for now?” Germaine sat paralyzed in fear for a moment. Erica watched him with innocent eyes, flicking her eyebrows up after a few seconds and glancing to Isaac’s seat as a hint. Germaine nodded jerkily and jumped up, practically knocking his chair over in his attempt to run to Isaac’s desk. Isaac casually stood and walked to the now open seat, ignoring the muffled giggles coming from Scott and Stiles in the back. He took his seat calmly and turned to stare at Erica.

“You are insane.” Erica just grinned at him. 

“Don’t blame me, it was Stiles’ idea,” she deflected. An offended scoff sounded from the back row, shortly followed by a message popping up on Isaac’s computer.

 

Stilinski24: That is total bullshit. I told her to scare Germaine away, not to traumatize him for the next two years!

EReyes: whatever he’s saying is horse crap. it was his idea. he gets off on the idea of watching others.

 

Isaac’s eyes shot to the back of the room. Stiles startled at the intense look of disgust he was receiving from the boy. 

“What did she say about me,” Stiles whispered, hoping Isaac would hear him. There was a long pause before he responded, just as quietly.

“She said you get off on watching other people.” Stiles laughed at that.

“Don’t we all? It’s called porn,” Stiles responded a little too loudly. The two girls at the desks in front of him turned to glare at him, giving him a rather unimpressed once-over. 

A message lit up on his screen.

 

EReyes: you are so easy. it was a joke dipshit. but good to know. ;)

 

Stiles stretched his neck to look over the computer desks so he could glare at Erica better. She just giggled and went back to her screen. As he sat down, an invitation to a group chat appeared.

 

You have been invited to group chat Wolf Pack by VMB3. Accept invitation?

VMB3: I figured this was easier than single messages to each of us individually, since that’s going so well. 

Stilinski24 has joined the chat.

EReyes: yeah yeah, you just like to ruin my fun :p

Stilinski24: Thank god someone can! Otherwise you’d be unstoppable. Thank you, Boyd for doing the world a service.

EReyes: oh fuck off stilinski. i would make an amazing ruler. 

VMB3: No question there.

iZac has joined the chat.

Stilinski24: Please god, do not encourage her!

McCool has joined the chat.

McCool: dude this is cool i never have group chats

Stilinski24: Not cool, man. I distinctly remember inviting you to chat with me and the girls from Jungle.

iZac: there are girls at jungle??

McCool: yes and no

McCool: girls yes

McCool: vaginas not so much

EReyes: LOL that is the best description ive ever heard! :D

iZac: …uh…wat

Stilinski24: Rude, Scotty. You know only Amber is a girl. All the others ‘girls’ just like the clothes. In their own words, they have too much fashion sense for one gender.

VMB3: I think some of them may not have enough for one based on what I’ve seen them wearing.

EReyes: lmao

Stilinski24: WHEN HAVE YOU BEEN TO JUNGLE???

iZac: i feel like ive missed somethin here

VMB3: Erica likes to go there so she can dance as…enthusiastically as she wants without having to threaten guys away.

McCool: drag queens isaac. were talking about drag queens. stiles has some interesting friends

Stilinski24: That is so sad and so cute at the same time. You guys wanna go this weekend??

EReyes: plus i have learned some amazing moves from people there. on the dance floor and elsewhere

Stilinski24: Jesus, what happened to that shy little thing you used to be?

McCool: ill go can allison come?

EReyes: i got better and i grew up. i don’t do anything i don’t want to. and i resent the implication that who i am now is wrong. this is the most ME ive been in years.

EReyes: and FUCK NO allison can’t come!

Stilinski24: Erica, you know I did not mean it like that. I love you how you are now. Sorry. It’s just you did a pretty big 180 on me and it’s still taking a little getting used to. I didn’t realize you were so…progressive, before.

EReyes: don’t try to flatter me now, you missed your chance to notice this ;p

Stilinski24: And I will kick myself for that for the rest of my life. I really am sorry though. For…everything. For not noticing you. For not realizing how amazing you are. For making you feel like you should be ashamed of who you are. That was definitely not my intent. Still friends?

EReyes: of course, assbutt.

VMB3: You have such innovative nicknames.

EReyes: lol. you know that one’s from spn. i made you watch like 2 seasons of it last weekend.

iZac: wait, Jungle is a gay club isn’t it?

Stilinski24: Welcome to the conversation, Isaac! You in for this weekend?

McCool: wait why cant allison come??

EReyes: maybe because she SHOT ME AND BOYD FULL OF ARROWS AND HER CRAZY ASS GRAMPS STRUNG US UP AND ATTACHED US TO A CAR BATTERY

VMB3: Surprisingly, it’s hard to let something like that go.

iZac: i guess i’ll come if everyone else is. should we invite derek?

Stilinski24: OMG. Can you imagine Derek at Jungle? He would be mauled! We HAVE to invite him now.

McCool: she went through a lot of shit last year! she wasn’t herself. how can she apologize for something like that???

EReyes: SHE went through some shit?? i’m sorry, was she turned into a werewolf?  
did she have to train with a lunatic who loved to break her bones so that she would learn to fight through the pain? was she paralyzed by a douchebag demon lizard which sent her into a seizure that could only be stopped by BREAKING HER ARM? was SHE shot full of arrows and strung up in a basement for 12 hours? FUCK HER, SCOTT. WE ALL went through some shit last year and none of us tried to kill people because of it. 

EReyes: except lydia, but we apologized for that.

VMB3: If she had made any attempt at an apology, it might have been better than just hiding. We know she feels bad about it, but just feeling bad isn’t really enough.

McCool: would you guys ever try to hurt allison? like take revenge or something? 

Stilinski24: How about we shift this conversation to a less rage-inducing topic before someone says something they’ll regret? I can hear Erica’s claws clicking on the keys, so I think maybe we all need to calm down a bit.

EReyes. Too late. Yes, I would. 

 

All the wolves could feel the tension rising in the room and they knew it was going to boil over if they weren’t careful. Stiles could taste the confused hurt coming off of Scott; his blind love for Allison was all well and good when the pack was the enemy, but now they were friends and it was actually pretty hard to reconcile Allison’s behavior. She had kept her distance lately, from the pack and Scott. Stiles tried to be forgiving. He knew how manipulative Gerard was and how big of an impact he had had on Allison, especially after her mother died, but he was still disappointed that she had fallen for his tricks. 

Stiles put a, hopefully, comforting hand on Scott’s shoulder before glancing over at the other betas. Erica had her head down, but Stiles could see Isaac’s arm wrapped around her shoulders. Boyd had somehow reached around the desks and grabbed her hand, letting them hang off the edge, swaying slowly. He could still feel her rage permeating the air, but it was now tinged with something like love. 

Stiles’ ears perked up as a lone call sounded from the woods. It was a short call, practically a bark, but it was filled with sadness and compassion, and it strengthened his resolve to fix the situation. Stiles absently wondered if the other students in the class could hear it, but based on their lack of reaction, he assumed not. He glanced up at the clock and was surprised that there were only a couple minutes left in class. He looked back at the conversation still illuminated on the screen. Scott had apparently sent another message.

 

McCool: I’m sorry. 

McCool has left the chat.

 

One by one the others left the chat as well and gathered their things. As the bell rang, Stiles grabbed Scott’s arm and dragged him over to the other betas, knowing that he had more to say. The three looked up expectantly. 

“I’m sorry for how you have been treated by the entire Argent family,” Scott started, “I know that I don’t really have the authority to apologize on their behalf, but I wanted to let you know that I do recognize how much shit you went through last year too and I’m sorry for trying to push Alli…for trying to push you into forgiving someone who really hasn’t done anything to earn your forgiveness.” Erica looked up at him in shock.

Stiles could tell how much Scott’s apology had hurt him. He had just admitted that Allison wasn’t perfect to a group of people who were practically her enemies. He had silently agreed to keep her separate from the pack even though that would split up the two biggest parts of his life. Stiles knew Scott was pretty much the best guy around, but it was times like these that reminded him just how amazing he was. Stiles wrapped an arm around his best friend’s shoulders and held a hand down to help Erica up. She accepted his hand graciously, but her eyes never left Scott’s face. She could see the hurt in his eyes too. She released Stiles’ hand and held her own out to Scott. Scott startled, staring down at the offering before reaching out to grab it.

“I’m sorry too,” Erica declared as they shook, “Yes I am still bitter and hurt, but I know it’s not your fault. I’ll try to be pleasant with her, but I’m not going to forgive her and I’ll never trust her. But she is an ally we could use right now. So as long as you keep her mainly away from us, I won’t do anything.”

It wasn’t a perfect truce, but it was better than any of them were expecting. Stiles took in the relieved expressions on the beta’s faces and smiled. It was the first fight in pack history that everyone had made it out of unscathed. Stiles pulled Erica into a hug with his spare arm. She laughed lightly and grabbed at Isaac, while Stiles released her to pull Boyd in. They stood together for a moment breathing in the scents of pack, relief, and family. Stiles felt completely safe for a moment with everyone wrapped around him. The hulking mass of Boyd at his back reminded him of Derek and he wished the alpha was here with them to share in the weird bonding moment.

Suddenly Stiles noticed something poking him awkwardly in the hip. He turned his head to look down where Boyd’s hips were against his own.

“Uh, Boyd,” Stiles stammered, “I know this is a nice little intimate moment, but uh, I don’t think now’s the time, buddy.” He felt Boyd take an embarrassed step back at which Erica started giggling. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she choked out, “That would be my fault. I thought the imaginary bet Isaac supposedly made was worth trying.”

The group jumped apart at that and everyone dissolved into laughter as Boyd sidestepped behind his chair. 

“Oh my god! How did you even do that in middle of class,” Stiles exclaimed. Erica looked down at the floor, cheeks flushing at last.

“I was using my foot, under the desk,” she whispered, embarrassed. Isaac and Scott continued to laugh even harder. Stiles just gaped at her.

“Holy shit. You must have the best leg control in the world! I know I would not trust someone using their feet down there.” He stared at her in awe for a moment before looking at Boyd. He looked slightly ashamed, but more than anything he looked completely smitten with Erica. He was watching her with bright eyes and a smile that said he absolutely trusted her, with everything. She glanced up at him and returned the smile before looking back and the floor. 

“I think we should probably go now,” Erica suggested, slowly backing away with her bags. The laughter died down some as they all moved to follow, but immediately picked up again as Boyd shuffled out of the room holding his bag in front of himself. They broke apart to go to their lockers still laughing quietly to themselves.

Stiles and Scott made their way out to his jeep and were unsurprised to see Derek lurking beside it. 

“So how’d the stalking go,” Stiles asked cheerfully. Derek just shrugged. 

“Fine. What happened in your last class? I could feel you all getting worked up,” he asked.

“Oh…uh…minor disagreement, got a little out of hand, but we dealt with it,” Stiles explained, “Thanks for the, uh, emotional support howl? It kind of brought us back down to earth.” 

Derek stood straight up and scowled down at Stiles, red eyes boring into his own. 

“What howl,” he demanded. Stiles stared back, startled at the urgency in Derek’s tone. 

He had heard a howl, hadn’t he? Sure, it was a short one that sounded more like a bark, but wolves barked, right? A spike of fear ran through him suddenly. He wasn’t sure if wolves barked, but he knew for a fact that foxes did. No, there was no way the fox had been anywhere around the school, not with Derek stalking it all day. And why would it hide if it was? Didn’t it want their help? Wasn’t the witch after it? What if it wasn’t the fox at all? What if the witch…No. This couldn’t be happening. Stiles’ heart started to beat faster, the glare of red eyes making him start to panic. 

“The one when we were all fighting! I heard a short howl, like a bark almost, but it came from the woods. You were the only one out here weren’t you,” Stiles asked anxiously, words falling from his lips faster than he could form them. Derek looked around the parking lot, sniffing in each direction. 

“This doesn’t make sense. I circled this school hundreds of times today and didn’t pick up any trails, at all! How could something get close enough for you to hear it? And why didn’t I?” Derek’s voice was slightly more hysterical than he would like to admit, but this situation was not exactly calming his nerves. Stiles looked at him, confusion warping his features. 

“Wait, you didn’t smell any trails? At all? Like, not even your own from circling the school all day,” Stiles asked intently. Derek’s eyes shot back to Stiles’. The pure fear on his face was enough of an answer. It would’ve been hard to notice while prowling around; you’re always surrounded by your scent so you don’t really look for it elsewhere, but Stiles could tell Derek had subconsciously noticed it and was now realizing how strange it was. 

“Shit. What does that mean? Can a witch imitate a fox call? Can it block scents? Do we know anything about how to stop this thing?” Stiles was really starting to panic. He let his head fall forward, focusing on his breathing. He could feel his lungs fighting for air. 

Scott stepped forward, trying to break Stiles’ mind from its trance. He held a steady hand out to Stiles’ shoulder, not touching him yet, just offering. Stiles looked up at him, fear written on his face and panic in his eyes. Scott gently placed his hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay. We’re gonna figure this out. Even if we can’t smell someone coming, we can still see. You will not be left alone until we fix this. We will protect you.” He reassured. Derek stepped forward and offered his hand to Stiles’ other shoulder. 

“We will all protect you. You’re family,” he added quietly. Stiles sniffed in a breath at the words and the scent of home and smoky pine overwhelmed him. He launched himself into Derek’s chest, curling his fists into the alpha’s jacket, breathing in his scent, letting it curl around him. Derek stood frozen in shock for moment before cautiously wrapping an arm around Stiles’ shoulders. Scott let Stiles go and stepped back to watch the exchange. He could feel the tension leaving Stiles, but he could see it leaving Derek. The alpha’s shoulders softened and his hand gripped at Stiles lightly, holding him gently against his chest. Scott nearly gasped as Derek brought his other hand up to wrap around Stiles’ waist. He could see Stiles melt into the touch, letting Derek practically hold his weight up. The two remained entwined for a long moment, before Derek slowly released him. 

Stiles stepped back shakily, leery to let go of Derek’s jacket. He took a shuddering breath and dropped his hands back to his sides. He lifted his gaze back up to look at Scott and Derek, a broken smile on his face.

“Sorry about that. Got a little, um, panicked,” he apologized self-consciously. 

“Never apologize for that,” Derek directed, Scott nodding his agreement. “We’re still at the beginning of this whole situation, we’re still getting information, just give it some time. We will figure it out.”

Stiles let a spark of hope flash through his eyes. He nodded once in acknowledgement. 

“So,” he started, turning to Scott in an attempt to diffuse the situation, “How was ‘research’ with Allison?”

Scott rolled his eyes and pushed at Stiles’ shoulder. Relief washed over his face as Stiles pushed back genially. 

“It was actually pretty difficult. Some distant cousin of her dad’s just decided to drop by suddenly, and I didn’t want to set off any red flags to him since I’m not sure if he’s a hunter, so we didn’t really get to talk much,” he reported. Stiles huffed at Scott’s pitiful attempt to explain away his lack of actual help. Derek just frowned at him. 

“What was this cousin’s name? Was he an Argent,” Derek inquired briskly. Scott frowned, trying to remember. 

“I think his name was Bernard? It was something weird like that. No wait, it was Reynard because they kept calling him Rey. And yeah, I think his last name is Argent. I mean he’s her dad’s cousin.”

“We’ll have to look into him. It’s a little too suspicious that he turns up in town the same weekend all this shit goes down,” Stiles decided. Derek nodded his approval. 

“Maybe we should swing by the station on the way home,” Scott offered. A grin broke out over Stiles’ face; he had trained Scott well. 

“Definitely,” he agreed mischievously. “Coming along, Derek? I’m sure there are a few new deputies who have yet to fawn over your good looks.”

Derek glared back at Stiles, but followed them to the jeep nonetheless.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay on this chapter. I've surprisingly got a lot going on, so I may only be updating once a week for a while. But the chapters are getting pretty lengthy, so maybe that'll be okay. 
> 
> As always, thank you for the support! Enjoy chapter 13!

The ride to the station was an awkward experience to say the least. The trip began with a scowl off between Derek and Scott to decide who would have to ride in the rumble seat, during which Stiles simply sat behind the wheel and laughed unhelpfully. Eventually Derek gave up and grumpily climbed into the back of the jeep under the pretext of ‘not deigning to suffer Scott’s childish game any longer’. Scott may have fist pumped in victory, but it was a short lived high since Derek spent nearly the entire ride to the station ‘accidentally’ digging his knee into the back of Scott’s chair. Stiles watched the exchange in delight; it was the first fighting he had seen between the two that was of a brotherly, teasing nature more than actual disdain.

As they pulled out of the school’s parking lot, Scott had eagerly put in Stiles’ favorite mix-tape which happened to be full of terrible songs you couldn’t help but sing along to, which Stiles immediately and enthusiastically did. Derek tried to casually block his ears as Scott and Stiles massacred Living on a Prayer and Don’t Stop Believing, but by the time I’m Gonna Be by The Proclaimers came on, even he was fighting the urge to sing along. He didn’t know what it was about that song, but it was impossible to not sing along. Both boys kept looking back at him knowingly and giggling, singing louder every time he growled at them for catching him mumbling the lyrics under his breath. By the time they were pulling into the station all three of them were in a much lighter mood than they had been when they left the school. 

It was decided before they entered that Derek should probably stay out in the lobby to keep the new receptionist distracted while Stiles and Scott snuck into the sheriff’s office. Stiles had called his dad on the way over to make sure he wouldn’t be in the office when they arrived. 

The two boys hung back at the entrance as Derek strode in, flashing his dazzling smile, only to be stopped short at the sight of the receptionist. He could hear Stiles giggling behind him and what sounded like Scott slapping him on the arm in warning. Derek swallowed a sigh and shook himself, squaring his shoulders and plastering on all his charm before approaching the new deputy sitting at the front desk. The new, male deputy. 

The man in question looked up with wide startled eyes as Derek approached and leaned casually on the counter edge. Derek could smell the confusion coming off the man as he attempted to grin down at him pleasantly. 

“Ca...can I help you,” deputy Parrish, according to his name placard, asked with a squeak. He cleared throat and sat up straighter, staring Derek right in the eye, trying to give an impression of competence. The deputy’s eyes darted over Derek’s face, taking in every detail, as every good officer is trained to do. Once he was done with Derek’s face, however, his eyes dipped further down, following the line of Derek’s throat down into the open neck of his Henley where a tuft of hair was just barely peeking out, and across his broad shoulders, taking in the leather jacket with what appeared to be interest. Derek breathed in nonchalantly and caught a strong whiff of lust coming from the man. 

Perfect. He thought Stiles had sent him in to flirt with the guy as a joke since he knew Derek would assume the receptionist was a woman, like the last time. But now he realized he was meant to flirt in earnest. He looked over the deputy’s face: pale smooth skin, dark supple lips, large innocent brown eyes that flashed almost orange when the light caught them, thick dark hair and eyebrows, ridiculously long eyelashes, and a faint dusting of freckles across his nose. Now that Derek was really looking, he could definitely see the appeal of the man. (As well as an uncanny resemblance to his own favorite pain in the ass who was still snickering in the doorway.) He flashed his biggest smile at the deputy and watched as his ears turned a charming shade of red.

“Hi there,” he started in a friendly tone, “I live out by the preserve and I’ve been noticing a lot of animal tracks around lately. I know there have been a few attacks recently, so I was wondering if there’s anything I should be doing to protect my property or myself. Since I live out there all alone,” the deputy looked up eagerly at that fact, “I’m just wondering how safe it is.” He feigned a concerned look as the deputy smiled up at him before digging through his desk for some pamphlets. 

“I’m sure you’ll be perfectly safe, sir,” Parrish assured him, glancing up from his desk drawer.

“Please, call me Derek,” Derek offered with another smile. Deputy Parrish just stared openly for a moment, eyes lost in the brilliance of Derek’s smile with all its vicious white teeth. He startled and nodded before turning back to the drawer, a blush slowly creeping up his neck.

“Of course…Derek.” The deputy cleared his throat before continuing. Derek could hear Stiles scoff from the doorway, followed by a disbelieving whisper of ‘Are you kidding me?’ The deputy handed Derek a stack of pamphlets about wildlife and how to handle a face-to-face interaction with any that might stray onto your land. Derek started to flip through them with vague interest as Stiles and Scott snuck back to the sheriff’s office. 

“I could always, you know, come out to your, um, your property to check you out, I mean check IT out,” Parrish stuttered bashfully. Derek heard a squeal of tennis shoes stopping short in the hallway outside the sheriff’s office, followed by a grumble as two bodies collided. There was a muffled ‘Are you fucking kidding me? He’s actually hitting on him?’ that was cut off as a door shut. Deputy Parrish cleared his throat again, bringing Derek’s attention back to the man. He looked embarrassed and his hands started fiddling with the stapler on his desk nervously. 

“Just…a suggestion, if you’re really worried,” Parrish offered lamely. Derek smiled down at him again, taking pity on the man who was clearly interested in him.

“Sorry, yeah, that would be nice. Thanks,” Derek responded lightly. The deputy smiled a cautious smile up at him with bright eyes. 

“So,” Derek led on, realizing that he needed to keep Deputy Parrish distracted, “how long have you been in the sheriff’s office?” The deputy grinned at him and leaned forward, thrilled that Derek was showing an actual interest in him. Derek just hoped Stiles and Scott were quick about whatever they were doing, or he was going to end up leaving the station with a date.

_______

Stiles fell forward into his father’s office. Scott was behind him trying to silently shut the creaky old wooden door. 

“Dude, what the hell,” Stiles tossed over his shoulder as he caught his balance. Scott threw him back a glare before latching the door.

“We’re supposed to be sneaking into a police station and you’re yelling about some deputy flirting with Derek? Who cares,” Scott hissed at him. “So your plan to embarrass Derek backfired. You’re lucky the deputy actually is interested or else we’d have been caught in a heartbeat the way you kept slowing down to watch that train wreck try to flirt.”

Stiles’ mouth fell open in shock. He didn’t know what to react to first; that Scott thought he had tried to sabotage their own covert mission, that he also thought Stiles was paying Derek undue attention, or that he had had the nerve to call him on any of it. 

“You have never been more attractive than you are right now,” he decided on. Scott’s eyebrows drew up in confusion. “You need to take charge more often, man. That was so hot.” Scott shook his head in disbelief and pushed Stiles towards the desk. 

“Just get what you need to get,” Scott ordered, settling Stiles down into the chair before flicking his ear, which in turn made Stiles squeak. “I’ll keep watch. But if someone comes, I’m bailing and you’re taking the fall.” Stiles chuckled at him.

“Seriously man, I know I’ve asked before, but you wanna try making out, just a little, just to see what it’s like,” Stiles suggested flirtatiously as he sat. Scott just rolled his eyes and smiled.

“Like we haven’t tried before,” he mumbled to himself as he ducked down under the window of the door, eliciting a scoff from Stiles while he picked furiously at the keyboard.

A crash from the reception area caused them both to perk up cautiously, focusing their hearing towards the front of the station. They each picked up on apologetic whispering and hushed giggles. 

“What the hell is going on out there,” Stiles muttered under his breath. Scott shrugged at him from across the room, pulling his best ‘I dunno’ face. Stiles huffed at him grumpily before focusing back on the task at hand, still trying to pull up any criminal history Reynard Argent might have. 

As he broke through roadblock after roadblock of digital red tape Scott began to fidget, nerves finally getting the best of him. He cast a quick glance down the hallway before darting over to the desk and hovering behind Stiles’ shoulder, bouncing anxiously on the balls of his feet.

Stiles frowned down at the keyboard as if it was the cause of all the barriers. Scott eyed the screen contemplatively, noting the multiple windows that covered it. 

“What is all that,” he asked quietly. Stiles cricked his neck to the side before jumping into an explanation. 

“That is the ridiculous amount of firewalls I just had to break through to find any record of this dude. It’s like he’s CIA or something. Every little thing about him has been classified by some organization or another, including the FBI, CIA, Homeland Security, and freaking Interpol. All I’ve actually found out for sure is that he is an Argent and he has multiple priors of possession of unregistered weapons. Which definitely lends to the hunter theory, actually. But I can’t find out where the charges came from or how long ago, or if there are any others,” he rattled off in a frustrated whisper. “I think this guy may have actually come from France as a spy. I can’t imagine anyone else who would rack up this many run-ins with this many government organizations. We’re gonna need help to crack him any further.”

Scott glanced over the windows he could make out and noticed a lot of redacted sections of text, even on the one police report Stiles had found. This did not look good. But Stiles had managed to do a lot of leg work in very little time. He smiled down at his friend, grabbing his shoulders and squeezing them lightly.

“Dude, that’s a hell of a lot more info than we had an hour ago. You also just broke your way into a bunch of different stuff. That’s freaking awesome,” he praised. “So we don’t know every little detail. We do know that he’s a hunter. And he showed up right when the fox did. Your dad says there’s no such thing as coincidence right?”

Stiles looked up at Scott’s expectant face. As defeated as he felt, it was nice to see that his best friend still had faith him. He smiled then, small and self-conscious. 

“Yeah, Scotty, I know,” he agreed. “Alright, let’s get out of here before Derek runs out of his verbal communication quota for the day.” Scott chuckled at him as he wandered back to the door to make sure the coast was clear while Stiles closed out the computer. 

Stiles joined him at the window, each checking a different direction before motioning to head out. As soon as Scott cracked the door open he stiffened. Stiles listened harder, trying to hear whatever had spooked him. He didn’t notice anything at first, but slowly the sounds of Deputy Parrish’s flustered voice drifted down the hall. But that shouldn’t have startled Scott; Parrish wasn’t a threat of any sort. 

Suddenly he heard it. 

His father’s voice drifted down the hall from the lobby. 

______

 

Derek stood at attention, biting back at the panic rising in his gut. His mind was racing for an excuse about his presence in the station. It wasn’t that he was afraid of the sheriff, he just knew the man didn’t think very much of him and would be highly suspicious of him being in the station at all, let alone with Scott and Stiles.

“Mr. Hale,” the sheriff greeted stiffly. Derek nodded in his direction, debating whether or not to offer his hand forward. He decided the less contact the better and fisted his hands into his jacket pockets, attempting nonchalance. 

“Sheriff,” he acknowledged back, praying that Scott and Stiles were done and sneaking out the back door as they spoke. The sheriff’s gaze shifted to Deputy Parrish’s confused face. The young man, who had been shamelessly flirting moments before, was now casting wary glances between the sheriff and Derek, whose body language clearly showed he had history with. The sheriff turned back to Derek before continuing. 

“What brings you in today,” he asked professionally, keeping any warmth or familiarity from his voice. Derek’s eyes darted to the door for a split second, gauging whether he could just bolt for freedom, before landing back on the sheriff’s impassive face. His brow raised in expectation. Derek opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came to mind.

“Derek here has been having some concerns about the wild animal attacks lately,” Parrish offered cautiously, “he just came in for some information. Isn’t that right?”  
The deputy smiled up at Derek warmly. He could tell the man wasn’t sure of the history between the sheriff and Derek, but he was still hopeful. After all, they’d been flirting or nearly twenty minutes. Derek smiled back at him, grateful for the break in the tension at the very least.

“Exactly,” he agreed firmly, silently daring the sheriff to push the issue. He watched the sheriff think over and immediately dismiss the excuse with a grin.

“Is that so,” he challenged, “And how often do you see wild animals in the middle of the city, Mr. Hale?” he added with a flick of an eyebrow and a devilish glint in his eye. The resemblance to Stiles was uncanny. Deputy Parrish looked up at him with a vaguely hurt expression, realizing that Derek had lied to him about where he lived, and had most likely been lying to him all along.

Of course Derek had forgotten that the sheriff was one of the few people in town who actually knew he had a loft downtown. After having been dragged in for questioning so many times, they practically had his home phone number on speed dial. He straightened his back and tried to exude confidence and innocence.

“I was just…I noticed some tracks last time I went to check on the old property,” he tried lamely. Maybe bringing up the more pitiable parts of his past would garner him some leniency. “I just wanted to be sure it was safe to be out there. I was planning on trying to fix it up, or at least go through what’s left,” he petered out distractedly, gaze falling to the floor. 

The sheriff’s face softened some at the mention of the fire-destroyed house. Parrish watched the exchange with empathetic, yet confused, eyes. He could feel the tension shifting from that of aggression to that of sadness. 

“I was just letting Der…Mr. Hale know that I would be happy to come out and check the area to make sure it’s safe,” he interrupted, hoping to break the newly formed tension as well. Derek smiled softly and glanced over at the deputy gratefully, who smiled back brightly. The sheriff watched the exchange with intrigue. He hummed to himself in surprise at the revelation. 

“So your presence here has no connection to my son’s jeep being in the parking lot?”

Derek’s face fell. He kept his eyes glued to Deputy Parrish’s desk. The deputy looked like he was about to breakdown from all the non-verbal posturing happening in front of him. Eventually he looked back up at the sheriff, although his posture remained demure.

“I’m not sure what you’re asking, sir,” Derek tried, attempting to flatter the sheriff with the respectful pronoun, “but I am here of my own volition. I have no idea where your son might be.” Derek knew the sheriff couldn’t actually hear the skip in his pulse as he flat out lied to him, but he suspected the sheriff could still tell it was a lie. He frowned at him for a moment longer and let out a resigned sigh. 

“I’m sure. Just get what you need from Deputy Parrish here and move it along, son,” the sheriff dismissed exasperatedly. 

Derek’s eyes widened in disbelief. It took every ounce of control he had not to let his jaw fall open as well. The word rang through his head: son. He hadn’t heard that word in reference to himself in years. It should’ve been condescending given the context, but Derek could feel the latent sense of protectiveness coming from the sheriff. The majority of it was for Stiles, obviously, but there was a small part that was definitely directed at Derek. A memory flashed through Derek’s head: a young Deputy Stilinski wrapping a jacket around Laura and holding her while she cried into his shoulder.

He remembered the smell of despair and desperation coming off of the man. As a child Derek had watched as a stranger had comforted his sister far more than he was able to. He had felt lost and broken sitting in the station, confused and empty. He remembered involuntarily staggering over to the pair without thinking. Deputy Stilinski had pulled him into his other shoulder without even looking up, cradling him in his other arm, letting the boy nuzzle into his neck for comfort; Derek was barely a teenager at the time. He had clung to the deputy as if it was the only thing keeping him from completely breaking apart and falling off the earth. He still doesn’t know how long Stilinski sat there, letting the two orphans cry into him offering them comfort and strength the whole time, but he knew it had been far after his shift ended. He remembered a hushed phone conversation when he had gotten up to get them something to drink: a conversation with his wife, telling her to let their son know that his daddy was fine, but he was staying late because there were two very scared children at the station who needed him. 

“Thank you. Sir,” Derek replied in a voice barely above a whisper, breaking out of his memory. He could hear the pain in his own voice. The sheriff looked back at him, his face a jumble of emotions ranging from irritation to pride to pity. He nodded once and patted Derek on the shoulder before heading back to his office.

Deputy Parrish regarded Derek apprehensively for a moment. A lot of information was clearly missing from the interaction he had just witnessed, but it seemed to end on a more or less pleasant note. He decided to take his chances.

“So,” he started, clearing his throat, “I get off at 6, if you want me to come over. To take a look at your property, I mean.” Derek looked down at the deputy, taking in his eagerness and innocence. He was not someone that an innocent person should be around, but he couldn’t say no, not when his eyes were lit up with anticipation.

“Sure. That’d be great. It’s the old Hale property, the one right off the preserve.”

“Ok! I didn’t realize there were any houses out by the preserve, except for that really old burnt out one,” he said cheerfully. Derek sighed internally; this was going to be such a mistake.

“That’s the one,” he replied. The deputy’s face fell immediately, ears and cheeks turning bright red. 

“I…I am so…I didn’t realize…I am so sorry, that was incredibly rude of me,” he stammered, visibly flustered by his faux pas. Derek took pity on him.

“It’s ok. I know it’s in bad shape. I don’t go out there that much, but I want to…be able to if I ever get the urge,” he divulged convincingly. The deputy nodded rapidly in return, enthusiastically agreeing to convince Derek he was sorry. 

He could hear the back and forth whispering of Stiles and Scott coming from the hallway and realized that their time was up. He turned back to the deputy, flashing his brightest smile as Stiles poked his head around the corner.

“Uh, do you have a pen so I can give you my number. Just in case you get lost or something,” he added with a wink. He could hear Stiles’ groan as the deputy quickly searched for a pen and paper. Derek glanced over to see Stiles and Scott crawling to the front entrance, trying to stay out of sight. They were such children.

Suddenly Derek was smacked with another memory: the image of a small, pale, mole spotted boy in rumpled Batman pajamas. The boy was sleepy and looked to be about 7, and was oddly comfortable roaming the police station on his own. He had come up to Derek the night of the fire when he and Laura had been at the station all night. He was carrying an obviously well loved plush penguin and dragging a worn Superman blanket behind him, completely at odds with the rest of the people in the room. Derek had watched him closely and the boy had stared right back at him, scrutinizing his face for a long moment, as if determining his worthiness, before offering the penguin to him. Derek had been taken aback by the gesture, but the boy had stood still, patiently offering the toy to Derek for a long moment. When Derek had finally accepted the toy, they boy had rewarded him with a blinding smile. He had then climbed up on the bench next to Derek and haphazardly draped his blanket around the teen’s shoulders before wiggling his way under it as well. He had wrapped his tiny arms around one of Derek’s and let his head fall onto the older boy’s shoulder, sighing quietly as he drifted back to sleep. 

It was one of the last shows of compassion Derek could remember receiving. He had kept that penguin for years, carting it around every time he and Laura had to move. It had been his nightly companion, muffling his sobs when the reality of life got to be too much. Just the smell of it had become comforting after a while. 

As he watched Stiles crawl out the front door, he finally realized what the smell of that penguin was.

Honeysuckle.

_____

Stiles and Scott ran to the jeep as soon as they cleared the entrance. They had heard the sheriff coming and hidden in a nook at the opposite end of the hall. It had taken almost five minutes for the sheriff to make his way from the lobby to his office, but as soon as the door had shut Stiles and Scott had thrown themselves onto the floor and crawled as fast as they could towards the entrance. 

Surprisingly Derek was still flirting with the deputy once they got there, so they used the distraction to make their final escape. Scott was still laughing as he climbed into the passenger seat.

Derek emerged a few minutes later looking conflicted. 

“What’s wrong,” Stiles called out, “Is he taking you to a movie you don’t like or something?” Derek glared at him as he approached the jeep. The scent of honeysuckle coming off of it was almost overwhelming. He gritted his teeth while he clambered into the back seat again.

“Just go home. As soon as you’re safely there, I can go search the preserve to make sure there are no foxes or witches or hunters hiding in it who might kill Parrish when he comes over later,” Derek huffed. Stiles stared at him through the rear view mirror, mouth hanging completely open and eyes wide. 

“Did you actually end up with a date because of this,” Scott blurted out in shock.

“It’s not a date, he’s…following up on my cover story basically,” Derek corrected.

“But he’s coming to your place, at night, off duty,” Stiles countered. 

“He’s coming to the burnt out shell of my old house. Not exactly date night material,” Derek returned. “Besides he’s coming because of his position as a deputy, not-You know what? It doesn’t matter. It’s not a date. Now drive before your father comes out here.”

Stiles startled at the thought and threw the jeep in reverse. He didn’t bring up Parrish or the “date” again, but his skeptical eyes barely left the rear view mirror the entire ride back to his house.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay this week. I think I'm going to have to start cutting back to one posting a week. The chapters are starting to get a bit longer and they take a bit more time to write and edit, so sorry about that. I'll try to keep up the two posts a week, but I've also got a lot going on, so it may not happen. Hopefully you'll still be interested enough to read. Let me know if you have any concerns. I LOVE reading your comments!

The next morning, Derek sat hidden in the tree line behind the Stilinski house; watching as Scott dragged Stiles out the front door towards his jeep. The boys looked like they had barely slept, their hair and clothes ruffled beyond recognition, but both were laughing as they hauled themselves into the jeep. Derek could hear the sheriff muttering from the kitchen about their “late night game marathon keeping [him] awake half the night, and after a double shift” as he sipped on what smelled like a dangerously strong cup of coffee. Derek was startled as the sounds of Enema of the State blared out of the jeep’s rickety speakers while it backed out of the driveway. The sounds of Scott’s garbled singing drifted out of the windows as they sped down the street. Derek uncurled himself from his seated position and headed off through the woods towards the school, sighing softly in mourning of his own sleepless night.

 

 

It had been an interesting evening at the Hale house. After leaving Stiles under Scott’s protection for the night, Derek had headed to his family’s property to make sure there was no incriminating evidence lying around that might cause the deputy to think of looking deeper into the issue and discover something, like werewolves existing. Deputy Parrish had shown up just as the sun was starting to set, looking as fresh and eager as a child trying to impress their babysitter. His eyes had glistened with anticipation and Derek could smell the excitement drifting off of the man. He ended up spending nearly two hours showing the deputy around the property and trying to subtly ignore his advances. It wasn’t that Derek was offended by his admiration, or even that he didn’t find the deputy attractive; he was just too good, too innocent, to ever be involved with someone like Derek, whose life was always filled with pain and loss and danger. Deputy Parrish was lived in a black and white world, and Derek lived in shades of gray; he wasn’t willing to corrupt another innocent soul, to put another innocent person in danger. However, Derek’s lack of reciprocation didn’t seem to bother the deputy at all and he continued to act friendly the entire evening, bumping shoulders with Derek and smiling back at him like the teacher’s pet whenever he found something.

 

As it turned out Deputy Parrish was a surprisingly good tracker; he had even found multiple sets of fox tracks that even Derek hadn’t noticed. His skin had crawled at the thought of the fox lurking around his property. They had also come across a set of boot tracks that Derek knew hadn’t been there that weekend. That find had been even more upsetting considering Derek had scouted the area multiple times over the past couple days and hadn’t caught the scent of anyone being on the property. Eventually the deputy had clasped Derek on the shoulder and declared the property safe. He had hesitated for a moment afterwards before inviting Derek to come get a drink with him, which Derek couldn’t possibly turn down after the man had gone out of his way to help him, even if the help was unnecessary. 

 

The two had ended up at a bar back in town until closing. They spent the night throwing back beers and shots and just getting to know each other. While the alcohol had no affect on Derek, it made deputy Parrish extremely chatty. Randy, short for Randolph, Parrish had come from a small town in northern California. His parents had been happily married for 45 years and he had two siblings, an older brother and a younger sister. His family had been very supportive of him when he decided to join the police force, and even more so when he came out to them the year after he left for training. Derek had listened to his stories with vague interest. Randy was a decent guy and he’d had a pretty charmed life, which Derek really wished he could hold against him, but Randy was too charming to be mad at. Derek couldn’t figure out what cruel joke had landed such a person in Beacon Hills. Deputy Parrish had been very curious about Derek’s family at first, but he held his tongue once he found out that the burned out shell of a house they had been circling earlier contained most of their ashes. He had then changed his line of questioning towards the town itself, which had proved to be only slightly less awkward.

 

The evening had ended with Derek driving Randy home and helping him up to his apartment. He suspected that Randy wasn’t really as drunk as he was passing off and really just wanted an excuse to show Derek his apartment, but Derek had decided to humor him. Randy was no threat and he seemed to really care about the town, and Derek himself, which was still something he wasn’t used to. Randy had given Derek the quick tour of his sparse apartment as he brewed him a cup of coffee for his troubles. The place was simple and clean, but felt comfortable and strangely inviting. (The smell of some kind of fancy coffee permeating the air may have had something to do with that.) As Derek opened the door and turned to leave, Randy had leaned in slowly and planted a drunken kiss on his lips. Derek had immediately gone rigid at the sudden show of affection, hand clutching the door handle so tight he could feel the metal bending. He had surprised himself when he felt his shoulders soften and his neck bend so he could turn into the kiss. Randy had let out a hiccup of surprise and nearly head-butted Derek in the process. He had jumped back then, blushing furiously as he slammed the door in Derek’s face. Derek could hear him cursing himself for the entire walk back out to his car and couldn’t help but smile. It had been a relatively pleasant night over all. Not what he had planned or expected, but it was kind of nice to be around someone his own age who actually wanted to be around him too. Although he didn’t really have any of the typical experiences someone his own age would have, so it was still a bit new and awkward.

 

Derek had ended up back at the Stilinski house to stand guard by two. He knew Scott was with him and that they should be safe, but he couldn’t help being concerned. Stiles wasn’t the most cautious of people on a good day. But now, with the extreme fight or flight fox reflex kicking in so often, there was no telling what he might do. Derek had hunkered down into the nest he had made the night before and watched the light shine through Stiles’ window, occasionally broken by the silhouette of one of the boys wandering past. He listened to them argue and play fight as they played video games until nearly four in the morning, grumbling angrily about how tired they were bound to be at school that day. Derek laughed bitterly at their stupidity. He had remained at his post for the rest of the night, focusing in on the heartbeats coming from the house, making sure they were still safe. 

 

 

Now Derek was traipsing lazily through the woods towards the school, mind preoccupied with thoughts of the previous night, but still keeping his senses open for anything that might be hanging around. He looked up and was surprised to see that he was already at the field behind the high school. He knew Scott and Stiles had already arrived before he even spotted the jeep in the parking lot. It was like he could automatically find Stiles’ scent amongst the hundreds of others saturating the area without consciously trying. He couldn’t even find his pack that easily in the school, though after a moment of listening, he had them located too.

 

Everyone seemed calm and happy enough, for a school day. Derek could hear Isaac and Erica joking back and forth under their breath, even though Derek knew they weren’t in the same homeroom. (Apparently Stiles had fallen asleep on Erica’s shoulder as soon as he sat down in homeroom. Isaac reported that Scott had done the same, though not on his shoulder.) The betas’ senses must be getting better if they could hear each other so clearly through multiple walls. Derek swelled with pride for a moment, reveling in his pack’s progress. The sounds of Scott and Stiles soft snores drifted into his ears and brought an involuntary smile to his lips.

 

“Thanks for looking out for us, boss,” Boyd’s voice echoed across the field towards Derek. He straightened to his full height, cocking his head to listen closer to where the words had come from. Boyd happened to have a homeroom close to the field Derek was hovering behind; he could almost make out Boyd’s silhouette through the window. He was impressed that Boyd had managed to spot him so quickly.

 

“It’s what I’m here for,” he returned. “Make sure Stilinski and McCall stay awake in the important classes today,” he added jokingly. Boyd laughed from across the field.

 

“Right. Important classes. So that would be…lunch?” Derek smirked at Boyd’s sarcasm; he was remarkably quick witted when he chose to speak.

 

“Sounds good to me. I’ll be out here if you need me.”

 

Derek turned to start his route around the school, taking extra care to see whether he could smell his own trail or not. If the witch had actually somehow prevented all scents from taking hold here, prowling around wasn’t going to do much good. He was comforted as the scent of deer crossed his nose when he approached a small path in the trees. He hadn’t smelled any deer the other day, so this was definitely a good sign; it meant whatever the witch had done had worn off. He turned down the path and contentedly began his circuit around the school, keeping his eyes, ears, and nose open for any sign of danger.

 

* * *

 

Scott was standing outside the locker room hunched over Stiles while he gasped for air. 

 

Stiles had kept his senses in check all day long, minus one minor freak out in the cafeteria when Jackson “accidentally” knocked a kid’s tray to the ground. The clatter of the tray was bad enough to startle Stiles into jumping up from the table, but the resulting cacophony of “Ooohs” and laughter had him running from the room faster than Scott could even track. The pack had scoured the school for fifteen minutes before Boyd found him tucked into the bottom of a stairwell. He had finally coaxed him out with the smell of curly fries, and the promise of not going back to the cafeteria. That knowledge, combined with his favorite food, seemed to comfort him plenty. In fact he had seemed so happy with the fries that, after he inhaled the ones Boyd brought him, Isaac ran back and got him more, rushing back and offering them to him like a tribute. Everything was more or less okay after that.

 

But then the school day had ended and they had headed to the locker room to get ready for lacrosse. Stiles had taken one step into the locker room and immediately bolted. Scott knew it was the smells. It wasn’t even necessarily the sweat and body odor smells that made it difficult to be in the room, but there was a lot of aggression and posturing in the locker room. The scent of dominance and anger and blood, mixed with a tinge of lust and confusion, saturated the place, whether there were people in it or not. The other betas had all gotten accustomed to it and hadn’t thought to warn Stiles, but he figured out quickly enough that it could be overwhelming. 

 

Erica was trotting down the hall to join them as Isaac emerged from the locker room doors looking startled.

 

“Sorry man, I didn’t even think to warn you. It can get pretty intense in there,” Isaac said apologetically, reaching a hand out to comfort Stiles before thinking better of the idea. Erica stopped short and pantomimed taking a strong whiff before collapsing in a dramatic heap directly in front of Stiles. He couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at her theatrics. She smiled up at him as she wound her hand into one of his.

 

“You’re alright, though, aren’t you,” she asked earnestly. Stiles took in a shaky breath and nodded. He lifted his head to slowly blink at Scott and Isaac who were watching him apprehensively.

 

“It’s all good, guys. I just wasn’t ready for it,” he assured them. “I’ll just wait til it dies down a bit in there and get changed really quick.”

 

“In that case,” Erica stated as she wiggled her way up against the wall, throwing her head unceremoniously into Stiles’ lap, “I’ll wait with you. They’re less likely to harass you if you have a hot piece of ass keeping you preoccupied.” She blew a kiss up at Stiles and winked obnoxiously. Isaac chuckled from across the hall, as if this was a gesture he was all too familiar with. Which, knowing Erica, it probably was. Stiles waved him and Scott off and the two returned to the locker room to finish changing. Erica stared up at him softly, picking at her fingers as if she was debating whether or not to say something.

 

“You confuse me, you know that,” Stiles stated plainly. Erica frowned back at him, looking slightly affronted. “It’s just, you’ve been really cool about this whole situation so far and you’ve been super accepting and ridiculously flirty, which is awesome,” Erica grinned at that, “but I remember just a couple months ago, you and Isaac were ready to kill Lydia, on Derek’s behalf.” Erica’s grinned faded immediately. “I also remember a certain someone disabling my jeep, with remarkable precision, and giving me a concussion before throwing me in a dumpster. You wouldn’t happen to know who that was, would you? All I remember is a pair of really beautiful…eyes.”

 

Stiles stared down at her as she tried to look anywhere but his eyes. He really did appreciate how comforting she had been over the past few days, but he wasn’t sure how much he could trust her, and he really wanted to be able to. Erica finally sighed and sat up, spinning to face Stiles fully. Her fingers twisted nervously as she looked down at the floor and spoke.

 

“I…won’t make excuses about what has happened in the past,” she started cautiously. “If I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s to focus on the present. The future is no guarantee and the past can’t be changed, so focus on the present.” It sounded strangely like a mantra as she said it.

 

“When Derek offered me the bite, I wasn’t thinking about the long term. I just…I wanted to be able to be a normal person. Which is ironic, I know, becoming a werewolf so I can be normal. But I, I wanted to go to school and not be afraid that I would wake up in the hospital, strapped to a bed. I wanted to be able to have friends who wouldn’t pity me. I wanted my mom and dad to be able to look at me without sadness and disappointment in their eyes.” She stopped for a moment, swallowing hard to keep her voice from cracking.

 

“And, yes, part of me wanted to get back at the people who made fun of me in the past, the people who had made me feel like I wasn't worthy of their time or concern, unless it was to laugh at me.” Her eyes flicked up to his face, trying to take in his expression in a split second before flicking back down. “Once Derek brought me into the pack, I could feel the ways my body was changing. I felt tension leave my body that I didn’t even realize I was always carrying before. I felt myself getting stronger and it was all thanks to Derek. He even took me shopping, which he can never know I told you, but he did. It was the whole 80’s montage thing. He let me pick whatever I wanted from whatever store I felt like. And he just waited patiently for me to try everything on. He gave great feedback. I think he may have even scared off a few guys who started lurking in the store when I was trying on lingerie, which is a story for another day, but just know Derek was a perfect gentleman and refused to look at me the whole time. He actually forced one of the workers to help me.” She smiled down at her hands, which had finally stopped fidgeting. Stiles watched her face closely. Her calm, happy expression was far more beautiful than any flirty look she had thrown his way. She looked back up at him hopefully.

 

“That first day back at school is probably the first time I breathed easily in years. And all of it was because of Derek. I owed him everything. And so, I promised him anything he wanted.” Stiles stared at her with a look of concern written across his face.

 

“I realize how stupid that was now,” she said defensively, “and if Derek wasn’t a decent guy, he would’ve taken advantage of that offer in a completely different way, but all he did was try to keep the town safe. We may have gone about it in a shitty way, what with the life threatening and what not, but we tested her first! We thought we were being careful.” She sighed down at the floor again.

 

“When you got in the way, he told me to take care of it. He wasn’t really specific about how. I may have taken things a bit too far though, and I admit that. I was still a little hurt that you had never even looked my way, before the change. But none of that is an excuse.” She looked up into his eyes as she reached for his hand, wrapping it in both of hers. “I am so sorry. For hurting you, for ever doubting you, and for treating you the way shitty guys who complain about the ‘friendzone’ treat people. I know I was wrong in the way I handled things. And in the way Derek handled things. I know we were wrong. And I know now that you were only ever trying to help people, even if you did threaten Derek’s life a few times. I even understand that now. And I think I’ve gotten better at thinking for myself. You’ve saved all of us. In fact you’ve saved me a couple of times. I can never apologize enough for the way I’ve treated you, but I want you to know that I will do literally anything to try to make it up to you.”

 

Stiles looked into her doleful brown eyes. She could give any puppy a run for its money with those big brown beauties.

 

“I’ve always wondered if Derek shopped in normal stores or if there was some secret tough-guy store hidden in a dark alley where he bought clothes,” Stiles joked. Erica’s lips quirked into a smile, but she quickly schooled her expression back to an expectant one. Apparently Stiles didn't get to joke his way out of this one. “Ok,” he started again, nodding slowly, gathering his thoughts, “Thank you for your apology and the explanation. I did not expect you to actually do that. I was definitely bitter about the concussion before, but I know you guys were kind of manipulated into doing a lot of the weird shit you did. And you have tried to protect me since then, and I try to return the favor. I think I just…I just needed to acknowledge that we’ve had a weird, messed up past and are able to work past it, and not just ignore it. For once. You know?”

 

Erica smiled at him then. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, nestling her head against his neck. Stiles sat still a moment, startled by her reaction, but he quickly settled into the hug.

 

“You have no idea how happy I am that we’re friends now. I can’t believe that there was ever a time when I willingly hurt you like that,” she whispered against his neck, breath tickling across the sensitive skin.

 

The doors to the locker room were thrown open as Scott and Isaac rushed out. Isaac looked confused by Erica and Stiles’ new position, but Scott simply pushed past him and ran up to the embracing couple.

 

“Teams’ coming, bro. It’s gonna be loud and smell bad, brace yourself,” Scott warned before pulling Isaac towards the exit. Stiles had about two seconds to brace himself before the stampede of cleats reached his ears. Erica pulled back and looked at him, watching as he winced at the sudden wave of sound. She nodded to herself as if finalizing a decision. Her hands gently cupped either side of Stiles’ face, covering his ears. His eyes snapped open just in time to see her leaning in to slot her plush lips over his.

 

She kissed him in earnest, licking at his lips until they fell open. Stiles' jaw worked as her tongue slipped into his mouth, massaging against his expertly. He was vaguely aware of the sound of catcalls being thrown at them as the team ran past, but most of his attention was focused on the sweet taste of Erica’s lip balm and the softness of her tongue as it rolled against his. His nose filled with the spicy scent of strawberries as Erica pulled herself up onto her knees, angling Stiles' neck up so she could continue to kiss him from the new higher angle. Stiles' hands gripped hard at her hips as he felt her breasts press against his chest and neck. He could barely breathe by the time she pulled away. She smiled down at him as he sat there dazed and gasping for air in the empty hallway.

 

“Looks like the locker room is clear,” she announced with a smirk. “And I’m sure you won’t get any shit from the team about being late.” Stiles mouth remained open as he stared at her in disbelief.

 

“You are incorrigible,” he sighed. Erica flashed him a smile before jumping up from the floor and offering him a hand. Stiles grasped it begrudgingly and allowed Erica to pull him up. His left leg had gone to sleep, so he stumbled forward until Erica caught him with an exasperated laugh. She led him towards the locker room, still chuckling good-naturedly.

 

“Come on, hopeless, we have to get you ready for practice,” she teased as she kicked the door open.

 

_______

 

Derek could hear the lacrosse team shouting and rough housing from the other side of the school. He circled back around to the trees behind the lacrosse field bleachers, opening his senses to search for his pack. He knew that there would probably be enough people watching the practice for him to hide amongst the crowd, but he couldn’t be sure yet. As he rounded the school, he caught sight of Boyd making his way into the corner of the bleachers, a few rows behind that Lydia girl. Perfect.

 

The team was starting to stretch as he crept out of the tree line and made a stealthy dash for the back of the bleachers, climbing up and over the back railing rather than facing the other onlookers directly. Boyd barely even flinched when Derek dropped down into the seat next to him; his eyes were instead glued to the book in his hands. Upon closer inspection, Derek realized that the book was one of the history tomes from the library. He felt his chest swell with pride as he watched Boyd finger through the pages diligently.

 

The shrill chirp of the coach’s whistle brought his attention back to the field. He scanned the players while they assembled themselves around the man, searching for the players he knew. Isaac was standing slightly towards the back of the field while Scott was front and center, posturing at Jackson. Derek frowned at the display.

 

Jackson was still a bit of a sore spot for him. After Lydia had ‘saved him with the power of love’ (even thinking it made Derek roll his eyes) he had calmed down slightly. But he was still the most pretentious and obnoxious person Derek had ever dealt with. Just watching him stand off with Scott in the middle of the field was painful. Even though Scott was less than a willing member of the pack, he still ranked well above Jackson, which Jackson had to know, which meant Jackson was posturing just to be an ass. He had held a few training sessions with the boy after the kanima showdown and Jackson had taken to the more physical aspects of the training rather well, but he lacked the emotional control required to pass as human in the normal world. Though he hadn’t seemed to raise any flags in Beacon Hills, but with the town’s history, it probably took a lot to raise flags anymore. Derek sighed in defeat as Scott tackled Jackson to the ground in a presumably legal maneuver.

 

Derek glanced over the rest of the field while the coach pulled the two betas apart. Where was Stiles? He sat bolt upright and scanned closer, cataloguing each player as he went. The rest of the pack were on the field, so was that Danny kid who was introduced to ‘Miguel’ (Derek cringed at the memory. Maybe slamming Stiles' head into a steering wheel was a bit much, but that ordeal had definitely called for retribution), even the one the coach always yelled at was lurking near the sidelines, but he was still on the field. But not Stiles. Derek elbowed Boyd, accidentally knocking the book from his lap and sending it crashing into the stands below them. Boyd turned to him slowly and leveled him with a withering look. Derek ignored the insubordinate frown and nodded towards the field urgently.

 

“Where’s Stiles?” Boyd’s eyes snapped open. Derek watched as Boyd picked over the field looking for Stiles, his shoulders getting tenser by the second. He turned back to Derek, eyes wide and startled.

 

“He was with us all day. I know he went to the locker room with Isaac and Scott. Erica even went down to check on him…” Boyd’s voice faded as his eyes slowly drifted to the locker room doors. He took a meaningful breath in through his nose and a half smile spread across his face. Derek turned to sniff in the same direction. He had been avoiding getting too close to the locker room because he just knew it hadn’t been cleaned since the season started and would smell like, in Stiles’ own words, death. He steeled himself and took a deep breath in, trying not to gag at the smell of body odor and misery coming from the lockers. Underneath the stench, however, was a softer sweeter scent: honeysuckle with a slightly burnt edge.

 

Derek breathed out in relief. He didn’t know why Stiles would choose to remain in the locker room rather than out in the fresh air, but at least he was safe. He focused his hearing and picked up on the fluttering heartbeat that he inherently knew was Stiles', but he was surprised to hear a second heartbeat with it. His brow furrowed in concentration as he once again picked apart the sickening mass of scents surrounding Stiles. After a moment, and a couple more cut off gags, he finally caught the hint of strawberry that almost always meant Erica. He turned to Boyd, who had retrieved his book and resumed his study of it.

 

“How did you smell him so easily in that mess,” he asked earnestly. Boyd turned to him with one eyebrow cocked quizzically.

 

“Him? No, I found Erica. I just figured if she was in the men’s locker room, she was most likely there with Stiles,” he responded simply.

 

Derek regarded him for a moment. Boyd was a decent beta, but most betas would not be able to sort through that many scents enough to find a specific person. Laura used to tell him that mates could always sense each other no matter how far away or how well they disguised it. Derek continued to stare awkwardly, though Boyd didn’t seem bothered by it. He knew Boyd and Erica were dating, but he hadn’t thought it was that serious. What were the chances that he would choose to bite two soul mates? A sharp pang of jealousy bit deep in his gut at the realization. He closed his eyes, swallowed down the angry bile that had risen in his throat, and took another deep breath, letting the subtle scent of honeysuckle and pack soothe him.

 

As he opened his eyes, Stiles and Erica emerged from the back door of the school. Erica elbowed Stiles in the side and pushed him forward, urging him onto the field. Stiles spun around to blow her a theatrical kiss before pulling on his helmet and joining his teammates. The bleachers erupted in hushed whispers about the possible implications of Stiles and Erica being alone together and Stiles being late to practice. Derek watched the exchange with casual interest until he noticed the lingering scent of Erica all over Stiles, and vice versa. Boyd shifted awkwardly at his side until Derek realized he was crushing the edge of the bleacher in his hand. A sudden eruption of cheers from the field as Stiles joined his team had Derek’s claws punching right through the aluminum seat. Boyd shakily reached a hand over to offer comfort, but Derek brushed him off and released the bench. His eyes zeroed in on Erica as she sauntered around the field towards the bleachers, tossing her hair over her shoulder and swaying her hips as much as possible. He was vaguely aware of the team splitting off into a scrimmage game, but the majority of his focus was on Erica, who was now climbing the stands with a devilish grin plastered on her face. She walked right up to Boyd, bypassing Derek altogether, and plucked the book from his hands before depositing herself firmly in his lap. She gave him a quick, passionate kiss in greeting before leaning forward and leaving a peck on Derek’s cheek as well.

 

“Don’t worry,” she said, far too intuitively for Derek’s liking, “he just needed a distraction from the smell of the locker room. And an excuse for being late. You know, one the team wouldn’t hassle him for.” She smiled genuinely at Derek until he had to release the tension he had been holding. It made sense. She was just looking after Stiles, just like he had told her to. He nodded at her once in recognition, but couldn’t help himself from crossing his arms over his chest petulantly.

 

A loud chorus of cheering erupted from the stands below them. All three turned to see what had happened. Stiles was bolting down the field, winding in and out of defensemen with precise movements, the ball cradled in his net. Scott darted after him, practically jumping over his opponents, but he couldn't catch him. Stiles ran with a determination Derek had never seen in the boy; his head stayed low and focused, his shoulders braced for impact, but shifting constantly so he could bend and twist his way around the other players. His feet barely seemed to touch the ground as he sprinted down the field, jumping and dodging those who tried to catch him; Derek could practically see the fox taking over. Stiles stuttered to a stop as he neared the goal, swinging his head left and right as if he didn’t realize where he was.

 

“SHOOT THE BALL STILINSKI!” The coach was bouncing angrily at the side of the field shouting directions as the rest of the team started to catch up. Stiles turned and gave a quick flick of his wrist, sending the ball searing into the goal net. The yells from the stands were deafening. Stiles stood on the field staring in disbelief as Scott and Isaac enveloped him in their arms, raising their sticks and cheering along with the crowd.

 

Erica wolf whistled across the field, which actually got Stiles to look in their direction. She jumped up and threw her arms in the air, pumping her fist in victory on Stiles’ behalf. Stiles beamed at them, smiling wide enough to be seen from across the field. Derek couldn't help but smirk back. Stiles’ stared slack jawed at Derek’s face for a moment before Derek caught his gaze. He was startled to notice Stiles’ eyes glowing a deep orange color back at him. 

 

_____

The whistle blew again, marking the start of a new play, and Stiles snapped to attention. Stiles’ eyes followed the arc of the ball as Coach tossed it into the air. He darted forward, ducking under sticks and jumping over legs, his eyes never leaving the ball. His heart pounded in his ears and his lungs burned as they filled with oxygen. It was like he could feel the blood pumping through his veins, giving him strength. All the sounds around him faded out until the only sound he heard was the rush of his blood and the dull thud of his footsteps. His entire being focused in on the ball as Jackson, of course it was Jackson, carried it down the field. A burst of energy had Stiles throwing his whole body into Jackson, knocking the boy to the ground with a harsh thud. He rolled over him as he fell and landed on his hands and knees, stick thrust into the ground, eyes still tracking the ball as it rolled away.

 

He sprang to his feet before Jackson had even stopped rolling, cleats digging in and tearing up chunks of dirt as he took off after the ball. Though his eyes never left the ball, he could still sense everything in his periphery: the crowd cheering, his teammates running with and against him, Coach flailing from the sidelines, Derek watching from the stands, eyes glowing a dim red. But all Stiles could hear was the pounding of his heart and the scratching of the ball against the ground. His eyes targeted it like a missile, laying an invisible grid along the field with haphazard arcs springing from the ground in odd directions before submerging below the grass. Some of the arcs were wide and angry looking, casting off waves that disturbed the images around them, while others were a simple barely-there line. There were points dotted around the field where the arcs converged and split that seemed to glow with energy.

 

Stiles’ eyes followed the ball across the grid without any conscious effort. He felt his legs pushing him off the ground, propelling him through the pitch. His spine twisted and arced without him telling it to as he wound his way through the mass of bodies following the ball.

 

Suddenly the ball broke free of the crowd and rolled into an opening. Stiles’ eyes snapped wide open and he breathed in a quick, deep breath. He felt his muscles coiling like a spring as he crouched down, seemingly innocuous and dangerous at the same time. All at once he was thrust forward, legs launching him over the teammates gathered around, pouncing on the ball as if it were his prey. He scooped the ball up in one smooth motion as he barrel rolled away and sprang back upright. Before anyone could tell what was happening, Stiles was halfway to the goal again.

 

Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He meant to let out a yell of triumph, but it came out as a yip. He stumbled forward, barely catching himself before throwing a frightened glance towards the stands. Derek’s eyes blazed red back at him and he felt his pulse sky-rocket. His head began to ache and sharp stabbing pain shot through his ears. He could hear his teammates gaining on him and just barely had the wherewithal to launch the ball into the goal before he was tackled to the ground. He fell hard, doubling over in pain. The shock from hitting the ground jutted through him in sharp waves. It felt like his spine had actually shot through his skin. His eyelids slid shut, trying to force out the unshed tears of pain. He could feel, more than hear, the low whine emanating from the back of his throat.

 

Isaac and Scott rushed to his side, pushing the other players back to give him space. Even Jackson was helping to keep the team at by. He wasn’t completely privy to the fox secret just yet, but he could tell something was up and that it heavily involved Stiles. Scott knelt at Stiles’ side as he writhed on the ground. There were no obvious wounds on his body, no bones out of place. Scott didn’t even know where to begin to help.

 

“Stiles. STILES! You have to talk to me, man,” Scott urged him. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong,” he pleaded. Stiles’ hand shot out, gripping Scott’s arm far tighter than he should’ve been able to. He leaned in closer, trying to hear if Stiles was saying actual words.

 

Suddenly, Stiles’ mind registered the scent of a predator. A wolf. His eyes shot open.

 

Scott barely had time to notice the brilliant orange glow before Stiles threw himself backwards, skittering away in a panicked crabwalk. His crawled back as fast as he could until he ran into Isaac’s legs.

 

Scott watched as panic washed over his best friend’s face. It finally clicked: the fox was taking over, Stiles was seeing the wolves as predators. Just as Scott reached a placating hand forward, Stiles jumped to his feet and bolted for the trees. Isaac moved to follow, but Scott pulled him back. If Stiles though Scott was a danger, there was no way he would trust Isaac. Scott looked up into the stands where he had seen Derek sitting with the rest of the pack. But he wasn't there. All he saw were Erica and Boyd, hanging over the back of the stands as if they were watching someone run into woods behind the bleachers. The same woods a frightened and flighty Stiles was headed for.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter...took a bit of a detour that I was not planning, but it just kinda happened...and I didn't know how to stop it. So yeah...you'll enjoy that.
> 
> Also, there will most likely be a shorter follow up type chapter after this one, before we get to a really fun chapter involving the entire pack..going to Jungle. It's going to be great.
> 
> But for now, have this!
> 
> Thanks again for all the support and patience!

Stiles felt the fear stripping away as he cleared the tree line, dropping his stick and gloves into the underbrush. He slowed his pace to a walk and pulled his helmet off, letting the cool breeze and sounds of the forest soothe him further. He sighed out in relief as the pressure that had been building in his head began to dissipate. As his head cleared further, he realized the stabbing pain in his spine had also dulled to simple discomfort. It felt like his shorts were pinching his back, which didn’t make any sense since his lacrosse shorts were always ridiculously loose. Except, the one leg of his shorts didn’t feel as loose as it had earlier, and that leg felt awfully ticklish. 

He reached back to pull at the waist of his shorts to see if that would alleviate any of the pressure, but as his fingers tucked under the waistband, his hand brushed against something that made his blood run cold. Just under the smooth fabric he could feel a large growth hanging down his pant leg. He prodded at it curiously through the fabric and jumped slightly as it twitched at the pressure he applied. 

Stiles wasn’t stupid, he knew what was happening, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept. He swallowed hard and pulled the bottom of his jersey up, the cool breeze teasing the bare skin of his back, sending a shiver down his spine. But the shiver didn’t stop at his tailbone; in fact it continued all the way down the growth that had slipped into his pant leg, tickling the back of his leg with the soft fur brushing against his skin. He sucked in a breath in disbelief.

“Of course. Of fucking course. I would be the one who grows a fucking tail,” he hissed under his breath. Begrudgingly he rolled the back of his shorts down until he could feel the base of the gro…the t…his tail. That was never going to sound normal to him, “his tail”. He gently pulled until his tail (sigh) had fed back through his pant leg and was hanging freely behind him. He found it strange that he could feel sensations through the tail, especially since it hadn’t even existed before. He expected to feel that there was a tail hanging at the end of his spine, but he could actually feel the wind rustling the fur and the soft pressure of his hand extracting it from his pants. It actually felt pretty good to just run the tail through his hand; it sent a new shiver back up his spine each time he stroked it. He wasn’t sure if that was a weird reaction or not, but then again he’d only had a tail for about five minutes.

The tail fell limply behind him when he finally let it go. He was slowly coming to terms with the fact that he now had a tail attached to him and decided to test whether he could maneuver it. His eyelids fell shut as he focused all of his energy into working the muscles along his spine and down his back. The muscles around his shoulders and upper back were easy to isolate, but the further down he went, the harder it became. After a few moments of awkwardly trying to flex his lower back, he decided to try a new tactic: work the muscles leading up to his tail. He had high hopes when he felt the tail twitch as he clenched his butt, but he soon realized that those muscles weren’t actually controlling the tail, they were just causing it to move because his butt was moving, and the tail was resting on his butt. He huffed out another frustrated sigh. At least no one had been watching him make his butt dance for the last few minutes, he thought bitterly as his tail hung limp, taunting him.

However as he breathed in a grumpy sniff of air, he caught wind of someone lurking behind him. His ears twitched at the sound of breath behind him. Stiles’ entire body tensed immediately, hair standing up on end all over his skin. His heart fell like lead into his stomach, the scent of his own fear forcing bile to rise in his throat. How had he not realized someone was approaching? There was overwhelming feeling of imminent death washing over him as he broke into a cold sweat, his lungs clenching tightly.

“No,” he hissed out, shaking off the fear and straightening up to his full height. He was tired of the fox’s inconvenient flight reflex taking over. He wasn’t going to run anymore; he wanted to stand his ground. He wanted to fight. His hands balled into fists and the forest around him seemed to turn hazy as his eyes burned amber. He didn’t let himself think about consequences or running away. Instead, he let his mind fill with rage and adrenaline. 

Stiles spun on the balls of his feet and launched forward, aiming for the figure now looming ahead of him. He felt claws forcing their way out from his fingertips as he flew through the air, tail whipping left and right of its own accord to steady his path, (like a rudder, he thought absently). The two bodies crashed to the ground as Stiles’ claws dug into the intruder’s shoulders, pinning them to the ground. Stiles knelt over the figure, hissing threateningly in the back of his throat. (Which was definitely a new feeling.) He could feel the body beneath him go rigid, but it didn’t fight back, at all. In fact, Stiles could feel all of the tension bleeding from the body pinned beneath him. He sucked in a breath and the taste of pine hit the back of his throat. 

The image of a slightly startled Derek started to form in front of him as his vision cleared. Derek’s eyes stared up at him, wide with surprise and disbelief, chest heaving slightly as his lungs attempted to refill with air. Stiles stared down at his hands where he had claws buried into Derek’s shoulders. 

“Well, how about that,” Derek attempted awkwardly as he glanced behind Stiles, “Looks like it just has a mind of it’s own.” Stiles frowned at the confusing comment, but turned slowly to see his tail, sticking straight up, practically vibrating with energy. Derek hissed out in pain as the curve of Stiles’ claws pulled at his flesh while he turned. He whipped back around to face Derek again, panic written across his face. 

“Shit, I didn’t mean to, Sorry, I don’t know how to…stop them,” Stiles rattled off apologetically. Derek calmly reached up and wrapped his hands around each of Stiles’ wrists, squeezing comfortingly. 

“Just breathe,” Derek instructed him. “I’m fine. I’ll heal. Just calm down and they’ll retract naturally.”   
Stiles closed his eyes and let his head hang low between his shoulders as he breathed deeply in an attempt to calm himself. As his lungs filled with air he felt his muscles loosen, to the point that his legs began to shake until he had to lower his hips down to the ground. He sat still for a moment, listening to the wind in the trees and the flick of his tail, inhaling the scents of the forest, and the smoky, homey scent of Derek.

Derek patiently breathed with him, letting the rise and fall of his chest (where Stiles’ claws were still embedded) lead him. He had followed Stiles from the field, sensing that something was wrong, and had tried to stay some distance away to prevent startling him any further, but that hadn’t exactly worked out the way he planned. The sudden sight of Stiles’ tail had mesmerized him, the pure orange fur tipped with white which looked as soft and dense as Stiles’ own hair, where two fuzzy orange and black fox ears were now sitting. Even more distracting than the sight of Stiles’ tail was the sight of Stiles’ bare butt clenching and jiggling as he tried to maneuver it. Derek had literally felt his mouth water at the display and before he could stop them, his feet had led him far too close. Even his own pulse had jumped when Stiles turned on him and attacked, but he was better at controlling his impulses and knew that Stiles wasn’t fully a threat; he was just scared. He had let the boy tackle him to the ground, twisting to take the brunt of the fall as gracefully as he could. The claws had been a bit of a surprise. Even now, they were still piercing his skin, but they were retracting, slowly. Derek was surprised at the pang of loss he felt as the claws pulled incrementally from his skin, as if he was losing some sense of intimacy that had been brought on by being, essentially, stabbed. 

Derek shook the thought from his mind and tried to ignore any implications it carried. He continued to breathe with Stiles, watching the tension leak slowly from his body as his lungs filled and released. Derek suddenly realized how close together they were. He could remember the last time he had been this close to Stiles, holding him up against his bedroom door, pointing an accusing finger in his face. The face before him now had evolved so much from the devious boy he had first met. He couldn’t help but marvel at the dark fan of eyelashes splayed across Stiles’ ruddy cheeks, the upturned nose that always looked so playful and kissable, the tiny moles dotted across his newly defined jawline, and those ridiculously expressive eyebrows. Derek noticed that Stiles’ expression was actually neutral as he sat and calmed himself. He couldn’t help finding him beautiful; it was the first time he had seen him so relaxed. Stiles dark hair framed his face in stark contrast with his fair skin, making his deep pink lips stand out even more. Derek’s eyes locked onto those open lips where they hung open while Stiles continued to take calming breaths. They were an almost odd shape, as if the cupid’s bow had taken over the entire top lip, leaving the bottom to simply pout. And pout, it did. Derek had a sudden urge to taste those lips, to feel their caress against his own lips, and his jaw, and neck, and…everywhere. He wanted to claim that ruby pout with his mouth until he had memorized the taste of Stiles. His mind supplied him with an image of what those lips might look like wrapped around his dick, Stiles’ winking up at him as he sucked the orgasm out of him. Derek felt his dick twitch with interest at the idea. 

Derek’s breath stopped short and he released Stiles’ wrists, limiting contact. Stiles’ legs had given out a few minutes prior and he was now straddling Derek’s middle, ass firmly planted just above Derek’s crotch. Now that Derek was paying attention, Stiles’ tail was actually flicking lazily over his dick with every breath. He felt the blush rising in his chest and silently prayed that Stiles would recover soon. Getting an erection while being straddled by a half transformed teenaged werefox was not something he wanted to experience or explain, to anyone, including himself. 

“So, how’s it going up there,” he attempted cautiously, desperately trying to not give away the delicacy of his current state. Stiles’ eyes snapped open and he looked down at Derek sheepishly as if he had forgotten he was there. 

“Sorry, I’m trying to focus on being human, but it’s kind of hard when I can feel my tail wagging and my claws dripping with blood,” Stiles responded, sounding disappointed. His face fell as he pulled one hand up experimentally. The hand came up without inflicting any more damage, but his fingernails were still noticeably claw-like. Derek stared up at Stiles, fully taking in his disappointed expression. 

“At least you’re learning how to use them,” he consoled, “And they do match your tail and ears.”

Stiles sat straight and his eyes widened at Derek’s words. Derek gulped as his foxtail flicked down hard against his dick. 

“What? I have ears too?!” Stiles’ free hand flew up to the side of his head. His fingers were met with a fuzzy point with small, extremely ticklish, hairs in the middle of it. The ear flicked in irritation as Stiles accidentally tickled the hairs again, causing him to scratch himself with his claws. His shoulders sagged as he sighed out in frustration.

“I don’t even know if this is a normal transformation or if I’m just stuck halfway between right now,” he confessed miserably, sitting back further much to Derek’s dismay. He was really trying to avoid any interaction between his dick and Stiles’ ass. There was only so much torment a guy could take. 

“I’m gonna go with normal,” Derek decided. “And it’s fine. All of the betas had trouble controlling the change when it happened to them. You’ll get used to it.”

Stiles seemed to take some comfort from the words. He gathered his thoughts and deliberately extracted his other hand from Derek’s shoulder. He stared down at his hands for a moment, examining the claws that were covered with drops of Derek’s blood. Derek watched with interest, deliberately ignoring his still-present erection, as Stiles’ eyes narrowed and focused on the claws. Slowly, practically glacially, the claws began to retract. Stiles’ eyes lit up in delight as his fingers slowly returned to normal, his tail wagging happily and relentlessly teasing Derek’s dick as it did. 

Derek held his breath, still hoping Stiles would just get up and not notice what was happening beneath him, but life is unfair and always out to embarrass him. Rather than jumping up in victory, Stiles wiggled his hips right along with his tail in some form of happy dance causing his ass to grind down into Derek’s stomach. Derek’s breath punched out of him as Stiles’ ass slipped down right over stomach and landed right over his now mostly hard dick. 

Stiles sat bolt upright, tail frozen in place, ears pointed to the sky, eyes staring straight ahead. Derek mentally cursed himself for everything he had ever done in life that had led him to this moment. His hands came up to cover his face in a vain attempt at preserving some of his dignity. He breathed out a frustrated stream of air. Stiles was still frozen in place, as if terrified to move. Derek peeked out from behind his hands, hoping to see a look of passive bemusement rather than disgust or fiendish delight at having just acquired ammunition for mockery for…the rest of Derek’s life; which might not be that long if the Sheriff ever found out about this. However Stiles’ expression was one of concentration. Derek felt Stiles’ tail flick down, settling between his legs, before Stiles rotated his hips once, grinding his ass against Derek’s erection. His eyes lit up at the involuntary hiss the movement pulled from Derek. Derek could feel his wolf howling with glee and practically purring with contentment.

A small grin played across Stiles face before he rotated his hips again in the opposite direction. With every movement of his hips, his courage grew stronger; he knew Derek could throw him off if he wanted to, but he could smell the tang of lust coming from the older man, mixing with the musky pine scent he always carried. He could feel Derek’s erection twitch beneath him as he rolled his hips again, and again. It was a heady feeling; knowing that he had somehow turned someone like Derek on. The thought that he was actually desirable to someone filled his mind as he gyrated enthusiastically, feeling his own dick growing with the sensations. He thought he should be embarrassed or at the very least apologetic, but he was thrilled. Stiles had never considered himself capable of affecting someone in Derek’s league, but he had the (quite substantial) proof below him. He absently wondered why grinding against another man’s erection wasn’t fazing him more, but he didn’t dwell on it; he was having too much fun teasing the alpha. He looked down into Derek’s eyes, which were now completely open, and winked as he thrust down hard and pulled his hips forward, sending a spark of electricity through his own body. 

Derek’s head fell back against the rough ground as his hands shot forward, gripping Stiles’ hips hard, practically lifting him off of his body. He felt Stiles fall forward onto his hands, which landed on either side of Derek’s head. His dick was painfully hard, pressing stubbornly against his jeans, and he knew orgasm was not far off. His skin seared everywhere Stiles had been pressed against him, rolling his hips, sending waves of illicit pleasure through Derek’s body. He had no idea what had gotten into Stiles, whether it was his own mind encouraging him or the fox, but it was driving Derek wild. The feel of Stiles’ lean body hovering over him, tail twitching happily between his legs, was intoxicating. Mixing that with the sight of Stiles’ flushed face, cheeks ruddy, eyes glowing amber as he smirked down at Derek and rubbed against him as if claiming him, was too much. His heart was pounding and he could smell his own sweat coating his skin, the scent of desire sickeningly strong. He could smell the want coming off of Stiles, the musky concentrated honeysuckle scent filled his senses, but there was a faint underlay of strawberry that caused Derek’s wolf to snarl with rage. ‘Erica. She has no right to mark Stiles. Stiles belongs to ME’, it howled. 

Derek was finally willing to admit to himself that at least some part of him wanted Stiles, a lot, and it was getting harder to ignore that part with every moment that passed. But he couldn’t allow Stiles to do this just because he wanted it. Derek knew logically that Stiles was an asshole and that in his mind this current display was probably some convoluted form of teasing, only exacerbated by the fox. He also knew that Stiles was a virgin and he wasn’t willing to take that from him, not without his full consent, not like it had been taken from him. 

He uncurled his grip on Stiles’ hips, aiming to let him go before this all went too far, but Stiles had other plans. As soon as Derek released him, Stiles flattened his hips down against Derek’s, grinding into Derek’s crotch with his own substantial erection. Stiles let out a whine of pure pleasure before rubbing himself frantically against Derek’s hips. The friction was intoxicating and Derek found himself grasping onto Stiles’ hips to help direct his movements, pulling him down and grinding back enthusiastically. His wolf didn’t care about his hang-ups; Stiles was right there, marking him, claiming him, begging to be claimed back. Derek couldn’t fight it. He held on tight and thrust his hips up against Stiles’, eliciting a surprised gasp followed by actual purring. 

Soon Stiles’ labored breathing filled Derek’s ears, calling to his wolf. He knew he should stop, he knew this wasn’t right. But every time he thought he had gathered the resolve to push away, to ignore his instinct, another tiny moan would slip past Stiles’ lips and his wolf would howl in demand of more. His own breathing became stilted as Stiles slipped one hand under the hem of his shirt, teasing the hair that ran down his stomach. Derek nearly yelped in surprise when Stiles’ hand started slipping below his belt; he could feel his orgasm brimming and knew any actual contact would send him over the edge. He kept telling himself that if he didn’t orgasm, it didn’t count as sex; he couldn’t take that away from Stiles. 

Just as Derek was about to say something, to stop them before it truly was too late, Stiles leaned his head down and firmly slotted his succulent lips over Derek’s. Derek’s mind went blank, save for one thought: claim. His wolf howled with delight as Derek kissed back with fervor. One hand slid up Stiles’ back to wind into his thick, silky hair, as Stiles dragged his hand up Derek’s chest, resting it determinedly against his neck. Derek used his grip to tilt Stiles’ head slightly for a better angle. His fingers twisted through the locks, running up Stiles’ hair to tease his furry ear. He felt Stiles keen as his fingers swept over the ear. Derek scratched lightly at the base, where the fur was softest, and felt it twitch happily under his fingers until the boy gasped, his body going rigid, then spasming as his orgasm punched out of him.

An overly concentrated scent of burnt honeysuckle washed over Derek, filling his body with comfort. The wolf purred in satisfaction as it curled into Derek’s stomach where there was the most contact with Stiles. Derek just groaned inwardly at himself for practically stealing Stiles’ virginity; he had meant to come check on Stiles, to help him come down from his change, not to help him…come. Then again, nothing about this afternoon had gone as expected. 

Stiles’ hips had stuttered to a stop after his orgasm but he was still covering Derek’s body enough that he was afraid to move. He didn’t want to startle Stiles, but he felt a growing urge to get out from under him. And run. He was just contemplating rolling Stiles off of him when the boy suddenly surged forward, slotting his lips over Derek’s once more and thrusting his tongue into the alpha’s surprised mouth. As soon as the taste of Stiles’ tongue reached Derek’s he felt his own climax burst forth. The flavor of honeysuckle, of Stiles, coated his mouth as he rode out his orgasm, sucking Stiles’ tongue into his mouth to savor the feeling and flavor. 

Stiles continued to shift his hips gently over Derek’s as he came down from his orgasm, tongue still probing into the man’s mouth, tasting every crevice. He pulled away suddenly and latched his teeth into the side of Derek’s neck, much to Derek’s surprise. The alpha’s eyes sparked red as Stiles’ teeth dug in, drawing blood. 

Derek’s skin vibrated with energy as Stiles worked the area with his tongue, alternately laving at the spot and sucking it back into existence. His hands gripped at Stiles’ back helplessly as the boy claimed him. He wasn’t sure if Stiles realized what he was doing, but Derek’s wolf submitted to the claim immediately. This situation had just gone from bad to worse. It would’ve been much easier to write off a random romp in the woods, than to try to ignore an instinctual pairing. 

Stiles seemed to sense Derek’s hesitation and pulled back slowly to look at him. Derek watched as Stiles’ eyes flashed amber down at him and he felt his own flare in response. 

“Do me too,” he whispered breathily. Derek stared back at him, eyes wide with incredulity. Did Stiles really just ask to be claimed back? Derek glanced at the long pale neck being offered to him and felt his mouth water. 

“Are you sure? You know this is serious, right,” Derek asked. He needed to know that Stiles understood what was happening. He couldn’t force a bond like this onto him. He could deal with a half open bond, he had done it before, but Stiles was so new to this; he had no idea how strong the connection would be. Stiles lowered his head to look directly into Derek’s eyes before nodding resolutely.

“I know,” he assured, pupils going dark with want. “Mark me. Claim me as one of your own. I need to feel like I’m part of something. That someone is with me, protecting me. Or this is just going to keep happening. I don’t know how I know, I just know.” His eyes flared amber as he finished, calling to Derek’s wolf. Derek nodded once and watched with anticipation as Stiles turned his head to give him more access to his neck. 

Derek reached up slowly with a shaky hand and pulled the collar of Stiles’ jersey down, exposing his collarbone and shoulder. He leaned up and gently licked the juncture where neck met shoulder, reveling in the taste of Stiles. He set his teeth against the pale skin, breathing in the concentrated scent there for as long as he could. 

Stiles waited patiently, resolve holding firm, as Derek prepped the area with his tongue. He barely flinched when Derek sunk his teeth into the skin, tearing into the tender flesh and sucking at the spot before massaging it with his tongue. He had expected it to hurt more, but he mainly felt a tinge of electricity shoot through his body, ending in his already half eager dick. Stiles let his head fall back as Derek leaned up closer and shifted his angle to attack the mark from a different direction. His soft hair tickled against Stiles’ jaw, surprising that any part of Derek would be soft. He pressed a gentle kiss to the mark before pulling away, looking up at Stiles expectantly, and placing an even gentler kiss to the tip of his nose. Stiles snorted in surprise at the overly gentle gesture. He leaned down, laughing, and licked at Derek’s mouth before pushing himself back up again. Stiles stared down at Derek, watching the red fade from his eyes as a genuine smile pulled at his lips and felt completely at ease for the first time in years.

 

The sound of a gunshot broke the air. Derek and Stiles’ heads whipped around in the direction of the sound. The forest around them had fell silent, not even the birds were making a sound. Derek could feel Stiles’ heart pounding faster than he thought possible, but he wasn’t tensed to run; he was tensed to fight. In fact, Derek quickly realized that Stiles had shifted into a defensive stance over his prone form. He was impressed that Stiles had figured out how to fight the flight reflex so quickly. 

Stiles slowly stood from his crouched position over Derek and narrowed his eyes in the direction of the gunshot. Adrenaline flooded his system as he surveyed the trees. He could see every leaf as it fluttered in the wind, but nothing else seemed to move, which was odd. He heard Derek stand behind him, shifting his jeans awkwardly. Stiles cringed empathetically. He was lucky enough to be wearing loose fitting, smooth fabric shorts, so the wet spot in his pants wasn’t hard to ignore. Derek however, was wearing tight, very tight, denim. Now that he thought about it, Stiles was sure that Derek was probably completely chaffed. He would have to get him some lotion or something as an apology. It wasn’t like he had expected any of this to happen, it just…did. Everything in him started screaming out once Derek was under him and he just didn’t have the strength to fight it. It wasn’t like he didn’t like Derek. And apparently at least one part of Derek liked him, so it wasn’t completely weird, right? He shook the thought from his head and rescanned the forest after realizing he couldn’t remember what he had seen for the last few minutes. 

Suddenly he caught sight of a small orange blur darting over a fallen log and weaving in and out of the trees around them. It could’ve been any fox, but Stiles just knew it was the one that bit him. 

“Look, 2 o’clock,” he instructed Derek. He heard the alpha snap his head up to follow Stiles’ line of sight. He breathed in and faintly felt the familiar scent of burning hit the back of his throat. The fox dashed between the trees with such agility that even Stiles’ senses were having trouble following it, but he could easily hear heavy human footsteps crashing through the trees behind it and his blood started to boil at the thought of hunters coming this close to the school. 

Derek lost sight of the fox for a moment; he was distracted by the scent of anger and adrenaline seeping from Stiles as he seemed to be prepping himself for a battle. Derek had no doubt that Stiles was serious about the decision to fight, but he couldn’t let him attempt his first fight against a hunter; Stiles barely had any clout with hunters when he WAS human, there was no way he would be granted leniency now. 

The fox reappeared in front of a tree, mere feet from them. It looked surprised by Stiles current state, eyeing the ears and tail suspiciously for a moment before taking a cautious step forward. It hesitated then, looking up at them, sniffing at the air and casting a wary glance between them that looked oddly like a frown. Derek knew they reeked of each other as well as lust, and…fluids. He tried not to be offended that a fox was judging him for what had just happened, but Stiles didn’t seem to notice or mind. Derek watched anxiously as the fox sauntered up to Stiles and nosed at his shorts. Stiles stared down at it, confused. 

“What’s going on? Do you need our help,” he asked quietly, trying not to startle it. “Is someone after you? Is it the hunters?” 

The fox looked like it wanted to say something for a moment before shaking its head with an impatient whine.

“Are you looking for protection? What happened with the witch? Did you escape?” This was answered with another shake of the fox’s head, accompanied by a withering look. Stiles let out a grunt, flailing his arms out in frustration. It was hard enough to come up with yes or no questions, but the fox didn’t seem willing to answer anything.

“What do you want from me? Can’t you just change back and tell me what’s going on? Starting with why you bit me,” Stiles pleaded. The fox chattered as it paced the ground in front of Stiles’ feet. It clearly had a message, but couldn’t figure out how to tell it. 

Suddenly the fox stopped pacing and took a long look backwards before walking up to Derek, jumping up onto its back legs and prodding his side with it’s front paws. It flicked its head back towards the sound of footsteps, as if ordering Derek to stop whoever was coming. Derek just glared back at it suspiciously. He didn’t feel safe leaving Stiles with the fox, but the footsteps were definitely getting closer and they were running out of time; if they got much closer, Stiles would need to hide. He grunted his acceptance before turning back to Stiles. 

“I’ll be right back. I’ll run interference, but I can be right back here in seconds. Figure out what that thing wants and call me back immediately,” he ordered. 

Stiles smiled at the disgruntled look on Derek’s face as he darted into the trees. He couldn’t help but watch the way Derek’s body moved through the trees like water, as if he was born to do so, which he kind of was, he thought vaguely. The fox nipped at his fingers, pulling his focus back to the matter at hand. Stiles pulled his hand back quickly and eyed the fox nervously; still unsure whether it could be trusted. 

“So what do you want,” he started, “You seemed to think you were protecting me last time we met, but then you disappeared and left us with nothing but a cryptic arrowhead.” The fox stared up at him expectantly. Stiles noticed it was keeping the pressure off of its front leg. 

“Sorry about your leg,” he added quietly. The fox looked down at its paw and gave its best approximation of a shrug. 

“So what is it that you’re trying to tell me? Do you need help?” Another nod, just one, in response.

“Ok. But not protection. So…you need me to get you something,” he guessed. If the nod wasn’t enough to assure him, the enthusiastic tail wagging was. It suddenly struck Stiles that the fox looked dirty, as if it had been running through the woods since their last encounter. 

“Are you stuck? Like that,” he asked. He watched sympathetically as the fox’s happily wagging tail slowed to a stop and sank down to the ground. Its ears flattened out as its head hung low, nodding once sadly. Stiles let the new information sink in. 

“Is there something you need to change back? Something I can get you?” Hope filled the fox’s eyes as it stepped closer, nodding again. Stiles could feel the enthusiasm radiating off of it. He wasn’t sure if he was picking up on it with his own senses or if there was some unseen connection, since the fox was essentially his alpha. It would make sense; all the bitten wolves felt a strong connection to their alpha. A smile pulled at his lips at the thought of Derek in all his alpha glory. He blinked the image away and stared into the fox’s eyes, trying to pick up on some sign that they were connected or that the fox had any control over him. Surprisingly, he did a slight pull deep inside his chest, which was unsettling at the very least. He tried to mentally follow the pull back to its source and was surprised when it skipped over the fox altogether and led off into the woods, following the exact path Derek had taken. The smile that had pulled at his lips broke into a full grin. Apparently he really was more connected to Derek now. The fox yipped at him impatiently and dragged his attention back.

“Alright, alright,” he sighed, “So what do you need and how can I get it?” 

He tried to listen closely as the fox broke into an excited frenzy of chatter.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to send a welcome out to the newer readers. I am amazed with the attention this fic has gotten and I am truly honored that you would spend your time reading this ridiculousness (which I absolutely love). An additional thank you goes out to those of you I have been dragging along for the past few weeks; your patronage and encouragement has been unbelievably helpful in forcing me to actually write. 
> 
> Hopefully I'll have another chapter up by Saturday night. If not then, than at least before the season finale on Monday. 
> 
> (On a side note, Allison will be joining the story for real in the next chapter! No more mentions-only! It took me a bit longer to get to her than I expected, but fear not, she is totally a part of the story. I guess the timing is a little bittersweet on that one.)
> 
> Next chapter: the pack goes on a field trip to Jungle! Get ready!

Derek sprinted through the forest; one ear tuned forward, tracking the footsteps of the hunter as he neared their location; the other focused back, listening for any signs of distress. He absolutely did not feel comfortable leaving Stiles alone with a potentially dangerous werefox that had already shown that it wasn’t against biting the boy. But it had also basically left him alone since, which was a mixed blessing in Derek’s mind.

Derek’s vision bled red, his instincts taking control as he neared the source of the footsteps. The hunter boldly crashed through the underbrush, taking no care to hide his movements or position. ‘He must be new’, Derek thought, as he slowed to a stop and ducked behind a tree for cover. He glanced around his cover and observed the silhouette of the man prowling through the trees a few yards ahead. He was on the small side for a hunter; trim and lean as opposed to bulking muscle and overwhelming stature. However, as he watched the man crawl through the brush, the sun would catch on the gun at his hip, giving more credence to his position. Derek realized the hunter was also carrying a gun out in front of him, keeping his finger off the trigger for now, but still too close for comfort. Derek froze as the man turned towards his hiding spot. Derek waited, breath frozen in his lungs, muscles tensing to strike, for the hunter to round the tree. He mind raced to plot the best angle of attack to avoid getting shot, when a familiar scent hit his nose. Derek peeked around the tree again to get a better look at the approaching figure, the red fading from his vision as the recognition sunk in.

“Randy,” he asked incredulously. 

Deputy Parrish spun around, raising his gun at the sudden noise. Derek jumped out of the line of fire, raising both hands in surrender. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Parrish stammered out, dropping his raised arms down to the ground, his face a mix of terror and embarrassment. Derek shrugged nonchalantly in response. 

“It’s ok. It’s not the first time I’ve stared down the barrel of a gun,” Derek assured him. The deputy looked back at him in horror. “Uh, that sounded worse than I meant.” Derek’s voice died out as he shifted his feet nervously. He could practically feel the deputy’s eyes glued to him, waiting for some explanation, but he really didn’t need to divulge his history to Parrish right now. 

“I’m sure there’s an interesting story there, which I would love to hear sometime, but mostly I’m wondering what you’re doing out here,” Parrish admitted, face shifting into its official interrogatory mask.

“I was kind of wondering the same,” Derek admitted with a quirk of his eyebrow. The deputy flashed him a shark-like smile before holstering his weapon and crossing his arms authoritatively. It was almost an impressive display, but Derek could smell the faint insecurity wafting off of the deputy. 

“Seeing as I’m the one with the badge and gun, I think I get my questions answered first.” Parrish’s tone remained passive and placating, as every decent officer is trained to do, but there was a touch of defensiveness to his words. Derek suddenly realized that the two had not parted on the clearest of terms after their last encounter, and the deputy was clearly harboring some unsettled feelings. Derek thought he had made it clear during his ‘date’ with Parrish that he wasn’t interested in a relationship. But he hadn’t exactly pushed the deputy away when he kissed him. Actually, he thought vindictively, he had kind of done the opposite. And apparently the deputy was not fond of being led on and then turned down so…awkwardly. Not for the first time in his life, Derek cursed his past self under his breath. He nodded slowly at Parrish and thrust his hands into his pockets before answering. 

“I guess that’s fair,” he said resignedly. “I was out picking up a friend, nearby. Well waiting to pick up a friend, and I thought I heard a gun shot. So I came to find…it?”

The deputy cocked his head to the side and raised one eyebrow skeptically, which was disturbingly reminiscent of Erica. Derek actually had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at the familiarity of the gesture.

“So you were hanging out in the woods, nowhere near your home, heard gunfire, and decided to go chasing after trouble, unarmed. That’s the story you’re going with?” The deputy stared him down, daring him to answer. 

Derek couldn’t stop the sheepish look that came over his face. He obviously couldn’t explain why he was really in the woods behind the high school, especially not after what had just happened. If the Sheriff found out he and Stiles were seen together, alone, in the woods, Derek would be a dead man. A sudden wave of panic crashed over him. What if Parrish could tell what happened? He was clearly interested in Derek and knew that the alpha had at least some interest in men. If he figured out Derek had been out here with another man, practically having sex, there was no way it wouldn’t get back to the Sheriff. Derek’s pants were dark, luckily, but it was still pretty obvious that there was a wet spot not yet dry near the crotch. To Derek’s horror, Parrish gave him a long once over before smiling up at him. He dug his nails into his palms to quell the urge to squirm under the deputy’s suddenly intense gaze. 

“Did you go looking for trouble just so you could have an excuse to come see me at the station again,” he asked, cocking one eyebrow flirtatiously. Derek let out a strangled laugh.

“Uh…” he stammered, grasping for a response. Parrish laughed as he reached out to punch Derek’s shoulder playfully. 

“I’m kidding, Derek. It’s ok. You can breathe now,” he reassured him. Derek let out a short burst of air and tried to settle back into disinterest. The deputy gave him a pitying glance before continuing. 

“I’m actually out here because we got some calls about a strange man roaming the woods behind the school with a gun. Now you do seem to fit at least some of that description, but I’m not seeing a gun anywhere, so we’re good here. Right?” 

Derek nodded slowly and chanced a cautious smile. 

“Great,” Parrish cheered. “So, have you happened to see any strange men with guns while you were waiting in the woods to pick up a friend? Perhaps one chasing a fox? That was part of a couple calls too.” Derek tried, and failed, to hide the look of surprise on his face. Parrish’s eyes lit up at the possibility of a lead. 

“I take it you have,” Parrish led. Derek cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to decide whether to lie or not. On one hand, he didn’t want the deputy to chase off after the fox and run into Stiles, especially in his condition. But on the other hand, it might save them some trouble if the sheriff’s office apprehended the rogue hunter for them so they never found out about Stiles. He decided to go with a half-truth: admit to seeing the fox, but not exactly where.

“Not the gunman, but I did see a fox,” Derek clarified. “It ran off towards the preserve a little while ago.” The deputy’s shoulders sank as the smile fell from his face.

“Perfect. That means our lunatic is probably going to follow it and end up shooting a hiker,” Parrish sighed. “The department is never going to let me live this down.” He sank back against a tree, looking far more beaten down than a man his age should. Then again, Derek knew from experience that tragedy and world-weariness was not strictly an old man’s game. He could actually feel the anxiety coming off of the deputy at the thought of an innocent person getting hurt because of him, even in a roundabout way like this. 

“From my experience, the hunters that end up in this town tend to have a better aim than that. They leave civilians out of their affairs as much as possible,” Derek confided. Rather than seeming comforted, Parrish looked up at him as if Derek had just revealed he was actually Jesus Christ here to recruit people to Satanism. Derek took in the deputy’s puzzled and shocked face quickly; keeping his own blank as he carefully retraced his wording to make sure he hadn’t said too much. 

“How would you even kno-,” Parrish started, looking up at Derek with concern, before raising his hands in surrender. “You know what? I don’t think I want to know.” Derek watched as the deputy visibly shifted his concern elsewhere and replaced his professional mask. 

They stood a moment longer, just staring at each other, not sure whether to continue the conversation. Derek was sure there was more to be said between them, but now really wasn’t the best time, especially if Parrish was on the hunt for their rogue hunter. The deputy kept alternately looking up at Derek hopefully and down at the ground guiltily. At one point he even seemed to look just beyond Derek, as if he wasn’t there at all, and a flash of surprise lit his face. In the distance, Derek heard the faint shrill sound of a whistle signaling the end of practice. If Isaac and Scott hadn’t come looking for Stiles yet, they surely would now. He had to get back to him. He extended a hand forward towards Parrish who looked up at him with severely conflicted eyes. 

“Sorry to run, but I still have someone to pick up. We’re good though, right,” he asked bluntly. He figured Parrish could take the question however he wanted to and they could work from there if need be. Even if Derek wasn’t interested in a romantic relationship with him at the moment, especially with a newly formed bond, he was still willing to try to have some friends his own age. Parrish seemed like a good person to be around and he didn’t seem to mind being around Derek either. 

“I suppose so,” he replied quietly as he grasped Derek’s hand. His grip was much firmer than Derek had expected; maybe there was some lingering resentment after all. “I’ll let you get back to your partner. I just hope, for your sake, that he’s legal. Wouldn’t want to have to arrest you now, would I?”

Derek startled at the surety of Parrish’s words. 

“My what? I don’t know what you mean,” he deflected lamely. The deputy leveled him with a look that screamed ‘I’m not an idiot’ (which was also a familiar look for Derek, though it usually came from Boyd). The deputy released Derek’s hand placed his own in his pockets submissively.

“Look, I may be new here, but I’m not green. I’ve been trained to observe, Derek. Plus, I’m gay, so I have some experience with this. And if the way you’ve been standing, as if your dick is still too sensitive to touch, weren’t enough of a clue, the stain on your jeans would be. Not to mention the insane hickey you’ve got going on.”

Derek’s hand flew to his neck instinctually. He had expected the mark to heal as quickly as any other wound. Why wasn’t it healing? Was it because Stiles is a fox? Is Stiles an alpha? Did foxes even have alphas? 

Parrish cleared his throat, breaking Derek from his internal panic. He looked up at the man guiltily, shuffling awkwardly in place. There was really nothing he could say to explain any of this away. 

“Look, I’m not going to say anything,” Parrish assured. “Although it is highly suspicious that you are in this state while roaming the woods, behind the high school, looking for a gunman.” He leveled Derek with a look that mimicked parental disappointment so well that Derek nearly felt compelled to ground himself. 

“You’re a good guy Derek. I know you’ve had some kind of history with the law, whether you were at fault or not, I’m not sure. But I wouldn’t want to see you brought down for something as bad as pedophilia or statutory. And if I see it, I have to report it.” Parrish raised a hand to stop Derek’s immediate rebuttal, his face rigid with resolve.

“I trust that anything you’ve done so far has been consensual, but if I find otherwise, I will not hesitate to castrate you myself. Relationships with minors are already a touchy area, even if they’re barely minors, and you need to be extra careful. I’m giving you a chance here to get your shit together, Derek. You will only get this chance once. I don’t want to see you sneaking around behind the school again, with anyone. This is still considered school property, so it needs to be safe, and protected.” He finished with an edge like glass to his voice. Derek had listened to him carefully and he had meant every word. It didn’t even seem like he was speaking out of vindictiveness, but rather genuine concern. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek stated quietly, fighting to keep the guilt from his voice. Everything Parrish said had hit far too close to home. Being labeled a pedophile...He had never deluded himself into thinking Stiles wasn’t a teenager; he knew quite well that he was only 16. But when he was around Derek, he just didn’t seem like a kid. Stiles was immature and childish at times, sure, but he was also more responsible and prepared than anyone else in the pack. He led more than Derek did half the time, much to the alpha’s chagrin. He cared for everyone in the pack and took care of everyone better than Derek ever could. Children didn’t think like that, they didn’t behave like that. So it was hard to think that Stiles was still, in the eyes of the law, a child. His wolf had already marked Stiles as an equal long ago; it was only his mind and knowledge of the law that had truly kept him from acting on it. 

Except, now he had. He had ignored his mind and followed his instinct and laid claim to a minor. He had taken a terrible situation and made it a hundred times worse. ‘Just like you always do’, a nagging voice in his mind supplied. Parrish watched him like a hawk as his internal battle raged on. Derek felt himself deflate under the deputy’s disappointed stare.

“I really was here to pick someone up,” he supplied pitifully. “And not for the reason you’re probably thinking. I think this was a one-time thing. But I will be more careful and more responsible in the future.”

The deputy’s expression softened at the apologetic tone of Derek’s words. He knew Derek wasn’t making excuses and he could tell that the man was pretty screwed up about relationships; even the sheriff had alluded to his romantic past and the tragedy it had become. He couldn’t help but pity Derek; he needed guidance, and more friends his own age that he could relate to. 

“That’s good. I have a feeling you’re just as confused about whatever is happening with you. You’re a good guy. Maybe you just need to spend some time out with some older guys,” he suggested. “I hear there’s a pretty good club in town, decent place to meet people, like us. I’ll go with you if you need backup. As friends,” he added cautiously. 

Derek eyed him skeptically for a moment. He knew exactly which club Parrish meant. Derek had been to Jungle once before, granted he had not been under ideal circumstances at the time, but it was loud and reeked of lust and sweat and no one seemed to understand personal space. But he felt like he should accept the offer, out of politeness more than anything. 

“Sure. Maybe sometime,” he agreed with a shrug. 

“Great! Meet me there Friday at 9,” Parrish decided cheerfully. Derek stared back, at a loss for words. 

“I’ve been dying to check it out,” Parrish admitted guiltily, “But I really didn’t want to go alone. I hate not knowing anyone in a place, you know?” 

The deputy’s face was so open and inviting that Derek couldn’t help but agree. It would only be one night and Parrish was a nice guy. If nothing else, he would be able to keep the real creeps away from the deputy. Plus, it couldn’t hurt to have his own ally on the force. 

“Alright. Friday at 9,” Derek confirmed with another handshake. The deputy smiled as he dropped Derek’s hand. 

“Great. Now get out of here and make sure you stay out of trouble.” 

Derek turned to retrace his earlier path, but decided it would be best if Parrish didn’t know exactly where he had come from. He took off at a light jog, veering towards the housing development he knew was off to the west of the school. He listened as Parrish radioed in that he had found nothing of interest in the woods, but he had spotted the fox heading towards the preserve before heading back, presumably, to his car. As soon as his footsteps died out, Derek quickly altered course, heading straight for Stiles, straining his ears to pick up that soft, rapid heartbeat. 

He suddenly noticed as he ran that he hadn’t sensed anyone else in the woods. The whole time he was tracking the footsteps, he had only sensed one person in the vicinity other than himself. And that had turned out to be Parrish. His mind reeled with the implications as he raced back to Stiles, suddenly more frightened for his safety than he had been before. 

_______

 

Derek heard the pack long before he could see them. They had moved from where he had left Stiles, but that was probably a good idea; the entire area reeked of the two of them. 

“Dude, what the hell,” Scott’s voice rang through the trees. “Do you have a freaking tail!? That is so awesome!”

“Ohmygod you guys, it’s soooo soft,” Erica cooed, followed by a sharp slapping noise.

“Would you stop touching it,” Stiles pleaded. “It feels really weird.”

“Weird bad or weird good? Ohmygod is this like jacking off for you now?” The thrill in Erica’s voice was terrifying, even to Derek. Although, now that he thought about it, he was curious about the answer as well. 

“Will it get you to stop if I say yes,” Stiles asked exasperatedly. Derek heard Erica laugh maniacally in response and felt a pang of sympathy for Stiles. Surprisingly he heard Jackson snickering as well.

“I always said you were a freak, Stilinski. It truly comforts me to have actual physical proof now,” Jackson stated smugly. Derek snarled and picked up his pace. He was truly tired of Jackson’s attitude. 

“So did this happen on the field,” Scott asked sympathetically, “No wonder you took off. Did it hurt? You looked like you were in serious pain for a minute.”

“My head was killing me until I took my helmet off. And my spine actually hurt really bad for a minute, but it dulled pretty quick,” Stiles admitted. 

“What does growing a tail feel like? Where did it even come from,” Erica asked with genuine curiosity. 

“I don’t know where it came from, but it felt like someone was stabbing me repeatedly in the spine.”

“Ha, I know that feeling. Get it every month. Not fun,” Erica commiserated.

“I wonder if Midol would work on those pains. Like if you knew you were going to change, I mean,” Lydia posed. “Maybe it gets easier with time. Like sex.”

Wait. Lydia? What the hell was she doing with the pack? And why was she not more startled by Stiles half foxed out appearance? Derek rounded a ridge of trees and finally saw the pack looming into view. Boyd and Erica were standing to Stiles’ side, Erica absently stroking his tail as the others spoke. Scott stood with Isaac on Stiles’ left, watching him closely for any signs of discomfort. Jackson stood with Lydia, across from the rest of the pack, surveying them with the same smug superiority Derek desperately wanted to beat out of him. The only thing missing was the fox he had left Stiles with.

Isaac was the first to notice Derek’s approach, standing up straight and cocking his ear to the side to hear him better. His hearing really was getting better, Derek thought proudly to himself. 

Stiles picked up on the change in Isaac’s demeanor immediately and listened closely to the sound of softly approaching footsteps. He breathed in deeply and even Derek could see him relax as the scent of smoky pine and home comforted him. Stiles turned on his heel while the others continued discussing whatever topic they had moved on to and called out to Derek.

“Thank god you’re back. Get these assholes away from me,” he begged. Derek chuckled as he finally stopped in front of Stiles. He placed a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and squeezed soothingly, feeling the tension drain from Stiles’ muscles as he leaned into the touch. His head sagged forward, giving Derek perfect access to scratch behind his fuzzy ears. Derek couldn’t pass up a golden opportunity like that. He reached up and wound his fingers into Stiles’ dark hair, scratching lightly at the base of his still furry ears. 

Six faces snapped around to watch the display with varying degrees of curiosity, intrigue, disgust, and in Erica’s case, unmitigated glee. Derek pulled his hand back quickly and winced at the involuntary whine the came from Stiles. Jackson fell into a fit of condescending laughter just as Erica squealed with delight. As Erica bounced over to take over ‘scratching Stiles’ ears’ duty, Lydia turned to Jackson and slapped arm hard enough for him to squawk indignantly at her. She gave him one stern look before he straightened up and fell silent again, watching the pack with much less delight. Maybe she would be a better asset than Derek thought. 

Derek stepped up further to join the impromptu gathering while Stiles drifted lazily towards Erica, leaning into her touch so heavily that he was soon being propped up graciously by Boyd as Erica continued to scratch happily, cooing as Stiles started to purr. Scott watched the exchange with thinly veiled envy. 

Erica’s soft side always amused Derek. When she had first taken the bite, she had turned a bit savage and vengeful, which was probably a bit Derek’s fault. But it was good to see that there was still a softhearted woman underneath. (Derek knew better than to call Erica a girl. He had learned that the hard way and had to endure a fifteen minute lecture on femininity and strength and womanhood and a bunch of other stuff he’d rather never hear again.) 

“I never thought there would be a surefire way to calm Stiles down. This is the greatest thing that has ever happened,” Scott mused absently. The rest of the pack chuckled while Stiles flipped Scott off half-heartedly. Derek looked around at the seemingly calm gathering and couldn’t hold back his curiosity anymore.

“What are you all doing here? And why are you so calm?”

The pack took turns looking around at each other before giving a collective shrug. 

“When you guys didn’t come back, we got worried. Then once practice ended, we didn’t have a reason not to come looking for you. So here we are,” Isaac offered. Derek noticed complacent nods of agreement from the rest of the pack, except for Lydia, who was eyeing him cynically. 

“Where were you,” she asked accusingly. “We came looking for you two, assuming that you had come after him to, you know, actually help him. Yet we found Stiles alone, sitting on the ground rooting through the grass like an animal. No offense,” she added in Stiles’ direction. The boy barely shrugged in acknowledgement, far too content with being petted to care about anything else. Derek bristled at her overfamiliar and authoritative tone. 

“I was just making sure a hunter wasn’t coming to shoot us or the fox we needed to talk to so that we can hopefully, you know, help Stiles,” he replied defensively. Where did she get off assuming he had left Stiles to fend for himself? He wouldn’t do that to anyone in his pack, but especially not to Stiles. 

The rest of the pack perked up at the mention of hunters. 

“How do you know there were hunters here? What were they doing so close to the school,” Scott demanded. Derek had to admire his protectiveness. Scott’s heart of gold could get in the way sometimes, but even he couldn’t deny the boy’s thoughtfulness when it came to safety. 

“We heard a gunshot. Then the fox came running at us from the woods. It said it was being chased, or indicated it was in danger, but it needed to talk to Stiles, so I went to intercept the hunter.”

“So did you,” Isaac asked nervously.

“I’m not sure,” Derek confessed. “I ran into one of the deputies from the sheriff’s station.” Stiles’ ears perked up at that, flicking Erica’s fingers away swiftly. He turned to face Derek, already taking a defensive stance.

“Which one,” Stiles demanded, glaring into Derek’s eyes. Derek could tell Stiles’ eyes were seconds away from glowing. The claim had apparently left Stiles as protective of Derek as he was of Stiles. He glanced down curiously at the mark he had left on Stiles’ neck, but was surprised to see that it had healed completely. His hand crept up to his own neck, but all he felt was smooth skin where the bite had been. Stiles’ eyes followed the gesture, flashing amber for a split second when Derek’s fingers first made contact to the spot where the mark had been. Derek felt a tug in his gut at Stiles’ reaction. He missed the mark too. He noticed Boyd watching the exchange closely, as if he had picked up on the tug between the two of them. It was more than a little unsettling to think that Boyd could sense something so intangible. 

Derek supposed it was a good thing the marks had healed. This way they wouldn’t have to explain to the pack, who also hadn’t noticed the stains on either Stiles’ or Derek’s pants, what they were about. They were definitely not the most observant werewolves in the world, but Derek counted that as a blessing for now. Derek looked back into Stiles’ eyes before answering. 

“Deputy Parrish. He was alone though. And I didn’t sense anyone else in the area.”

Stiles nodded as he absorbed the new information. 

“It is the middle of the day and he is a newbie, so it’s possible that they sent him out on his own, but it still seems strange,” Stiles decided. 

“I thought so too,” Derek agreed. “In other news, where did our fuzzy friend go?”

The pack members scanned the area quickly as if the fox would still be hiding somewhere nearby. 

“Oh, it ran off when it heard the pack coming. I’m not positive, but I think it’ll find me again when it needs me.”

Derek bristled at the idea of the fox stalking Stiles movements. He didn’t like the idea of the fox having access to the boy when he wasn’t around to oversee things. Although, that just meant he would have an excuse to be around Stiles even more, for protection. That thought was much less disagreeable. 

“So, what did our friend have to say,” he asked.

Stiles bounced up eagerly at the question, waving his arms excitedly as he began to speak. 

“Ok, so first of all, I can understand it really well now! Even when it’s speaking not-languages! But anyway, it was being hunted. But it couldn’t see who was after it. It said the witch was a friend. And that it’s actually stuck as a fox right now. Like it’s cursed or something. I’m not sure what that meant, but there is something that can un-stick it!” 

Stiles’ excitement was contagious. Boyd was hanging onto Erica as she bounced in anticipation. Scott and Isaac had stepped closer and were watching Stiles with rapt eyes. Even Lydia was fully focused on him rather than paying half attention, as was her usual play. Derek ignored Jackson’s impatient muttering. 

“So what is it? Don’t keep us waiting,” Erica demanded. Stiles startled at the force in her voice. 

“Sorry, right. It’s some flower that’s really rare and grows in the wild. Shit! I had it ten minutes ago. It was something…something lace,” Stiles fumbled to remember the name, his cheeks burning red as he got more and more flustered with himself.

“Queen Ann’s Lace,” Boyd suggested. Stiles shook his head quickly, but Scott and Jackson stared at Boyd like he had grown another head. Derek’s betas knew that Boyd’s mother was a gardener, so his knowledge of plants wasn’t really that surprising to them.

“Nah, it was some weird word then lace….flower! Laceflower! Something laceflower,” he announced proudly. While the majority of the pack stared blankly back at him, Lydia began muttering to herself.

“Oh, tiarella trifoliata. Trifoliate laceflower,” Lydia answered. Stiles jumped up, throwing one fist in the air in triumph. 

“That’s it! Trifoliate laceflower! That’s what it needs!”

“No wonder you couldn’t remember the name. It is an extremely rare flower indigenous to northern California. There are a lot of botanists who think it will be extinct soon. So good luck finding it,” she added with a smirk. 

Stiles deflated some at the news. Of course it couldn’t be a simple weed that was all over the place. Why couldn’t they just need dandelions or something? How about crabgrass? He was sure he could find that, probably in his own front yard. 

“Don’t worry Stiles,” Scott assured him brightly, “We just so happen to know someone who collects rare plants. And from what I recall, he’s kind of an authority on supernatural shenanigans too.” Stiles grinned at his best friend. Scott smiled right back, throwing an arm over Stiles’ shoulders as he turned them to face the rest of the pack. 

“So, who’s up for a trip to the doctor?”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have gotten a little carried away with this chapter, but I was having fun, so I can't really apologize for it. But YAY I managed to crank this out in less than a week! 
> 
> But it is pretty damn long. A lot happened, ok?
> 
> The perspective switches a bit throughout this chapter so, fair-warning, you may have to pay a bit more attention than usual.
> 
> Ok, let me know what you think.
> 
> And now the party begins...

Stiles stumbled forward as a body slammed against him, pushing his shoulder into the brick wall at his side. He turned to see Scott peering around him cautiously, looking down the line of people for their target. 

“This is such a dumb idea. He’s gonna know we’re here,” Scott hissed at him. Stiles just slapped at his arm until he backed off some. He needed space to breathe, and think.

“Ohmygod, did he dress up,” Erica squealed excitedly as she flung herself into the two boys, craning her neck for a better view. Scott laughed as she batted away the hand Stiles attempted to cover her mouth with.

“I am begging you, just be quiet,” Stiles whispered. He felt another presence join their impromptu scouting team as Boyd silently stepped up behind Erica. He took one quick glance at the line of people before turning to the pack seriously. 

“Guys, he just went inside.”

Stiles fell forward as his limbs flailed around him. Erica jumped backward, laughing as Scott crashed into the now empty space at the wall. They watched Stiles crawl forward and jump up, eyes scouring the crowd in front of them for their resident alpha. But Boyd was right, Derek was nowhere to be seen outside the nightclub. 

“Dammit! How did Parrish sneak by us,” he asked, mainly to himself. Isaac stepped away from the wall he had been casually leaning against and cocked an eyebrow at Stiles.

“How did you even know they were coming here? And why are we hiding? I thought we all decided to come here a few days ago,” he reminded them gently. The pack stared at him as if he had just revealed the secrets of the universe. 

“Dude! You’re totally right! We were totally planning to come here tonight anyway! Now he can’t get mad at us,” Stiles cheered excitedly. “I never thought I’d say this, but Isaac, you’re a genius.” Isaac feigned a bashful sigh before pushing Stiles away gently.

“You say the nicest things. Now can we go inside already?”

“Yes!! I am all about some dancing right now! Boyd, be prepared, I am about to rock your world,” Erica taunted as she grabbed the collar of the boy’s shirt and dragged him into the line. Isaac, Scott, and Stiles fell in behind them, significantly less nervous than they had been.

\--

The pack’s presence there was honestly a coincidence. Well, mostly.

Scott had contacted Deaton the evening after Stiles’ episode during practice. It had taken some creative and uncomfortable camouflaging to get Stiles to his jeep without anyone seeing him, but between the entire pack, they managed it without too much notice. Once Scott had gotten Stiles home, he decided to stay with him until his tail and ears went away. The boys had waited for a couple hours to no avail and ended up playing video games until midnight before finally crashing. By the time they woke the next morning, the ears and tail were gone.

Scott had actually met with Deaton that next day after school. As always the veterinarian was cagey and mysterious, but he said he would look into it. As it turned out, trifoliate laceflower was a rare cousin to the Queen Anne’s’ Lace that Boyd had mentioned. Another strain of the herb, called Bishop’s Weed, was actually used to treat things like psoriasis and vitiligo, a condition where the skin actually changes color in spots.

Stiles had nearly fallen out of his chair when he heard that. If the mundane version of this thing could change people back from transformations, he was pretty optimistic about what the rare, more potent version could do. Stiles was beyond eager to get his hands on the herb, but Deaton reminded them that he did still have a day job in town and it was a rare flower, so he wouldn’t be able to get any until Friday. The pack decided that they would all venture downtown to pick up the plant after practice. 

Deaton had only been mildly shocked to see a majority of the local werewolves in his waiting room Friday afternoon. He had explained that the herb’s properties were still mysterious to him, nut after some convincing, he had given Stiles a small pouch of the dried herb (and a small potted sample just in case) nonetheless. 

The pack had then decided to pick up some food and crash Stiles’ house for an impromptu movie night. Stiles, being the loving son that he was, decided to check in with his dad at the station and offer to bring him some dinner. It was there that he overheard Deputy Parrish mentioning a not-quite-date at Jungle that evening with his new friend Derek. Stiles’ ears had perked up at the mention of Derek’s name, but his heart had undergone some strange acrobatic display at the thought of Derek at Jungle, dancing, in date-worthy clothing. His excitement was only slightly shaded with jealousy at the thought of Derek being there with another man. Stiles had decided right then that the he would be following Derek to Jungle that evening. 

Somehow the rest of the pack found out before they had even left the station. He had done his best to dissuade them from following, but they were incorrigible. They had practically raced to the club as soon as they finished dinner. There was nothing Stiles could do.

He just hoped he was going to live to regret this evening as he followed Erica into the club.

\--

Inside the club the music pounded at Derek’s eardrums as Parrish led him to the bar. There was a writhing mass of scantily clad bodies in the middle of the dance floor bouncing to the music and spilling drinks left and right. Derek didn’t even have to try and he could still smell the waves of lust and sweat coming from the dancing mob. Parrish had the good sense to avoid that section of the room, but they still had to work their way through the crowds of onlookers to reach the bar along the back wall. The deputy passed through the crowd with impressive agility, hips swaying and twisting as he weaved them through the crowd. Derek noticed a number of people eyeing both he and Parrish up as they made their way to the bar. 

He had to admit that the deputy had cleaned up nicely for the evening; he was clearly trying to make a good impression on any potential suitors. He was wearing a sinfully tight pair of jeans with a tailored bright blue button down and a deep black vest that showed off his surprisingly fit shape. The outfit hugged his body in a way that made you want to stare for a while, just to take it all in. Then you would immediately want to take it all off. Derek looked down at his own clothes self-consciously. It wasn’t that he was actually trying to impress anyone, but he suddenly felt underdressed in his black jeans and red v-neck. He was so distracted by his thoughts that he nearly bowled right into Parrish as he stopped abruptly at the bar. 

“What’s your poison,” Parrish asked, leaning in too close just to be heard over the speakers. The air felt thick in the club; too many people, too much sweat, too much breath being condensed into a too small room. 

“Anything’s fine,” Derek responded at a yell. It was pointless to try to talk to someone in this room; nothing could be heard over the bass rattling off of every surface. Parrish winked at him mischievously before turning to the bartender and ordering. It didn’t really matter what Derek drank since the alcohol would burn through his system before it could affect him, but he almost admired Parrish’s dogged attempts at getting him to loosen up. 

Derek scanned the room while Parrish waited for their drinks. It was amazing to him that people actually enjoyed places like this. Everywhere he looked people were on top of each other, grinding away to some pop princess or another, practically slobbering over each other in the darkness. The room reeked of lust and sex and desperation. It was such an animalistic display, which was saying something coming from a werewolf. 

Derek startled as a hand grasped his shoulder. He turned to see Parrish offering him a shot with a smile. Derek grabbed the shot and gave it a quick sniff: tequila. He raised an eyebrow at Parrish as he raised his own shot glass.

“To new friends and new experiences,” the deputy toasted, staring Derek down expectantly waiting for him to return the toast. Derek humored him, just to get things moving, clinking their glasses together before tossing the shot back expertly. As he placed the glasses back on the bar, the bartender returned with two of the pinkest drinks Derek had ever seen; the luminescent liquid was practically a spotlight in the dark room. Derek cringed as Parrish handed him one of the fuchsia filled martini glasses, giggling from the time he picked it up until well after Derek begrudgingly accepted it. 

“What. The hell. Is this.” 

Parrish dissolved into a fit of laughter at the pure anguish in Derek’s voice as he sneered at the drink in his hand. 

“You said anything was fine,” Parrish choked out through his laughter, “They’re raspberry cosmos.” Derek glared back at the man, waiting for…something. An apology? Parrish’s cheeks were bright red, his eyes glistening from laughter and pure, innocent delight. He was barely suppressing his giggles while Derek stared him down. There really wasn’t a mean bone in the man’s body. Derek waited an uncomfortably long time before rolling his eyes theatrically and downing the drink in one go. Parrish let out a cheer of delight as Derek slammed the glass back onto the bar. Derek smirked at Parrish as he threw the drink back with a cringe.

“Oh my god, it’s so sweet,” he spat out, tongue hanging out of his mouth, searching for something to chase the flavor away with. Derek couldn’t help but laugh at his discomfort. He reached over the bar, plucked a lime out of the garnish tray, and shoved it into Parrish’s mouth. The deputy bit down trustingly and immediately spat the lime back into Derek’s hand. 

“OH GOD THAT’S WORSE,” he screeched as he dramatically wiped at his tongue. Derek grinned evilly before ordering two more drinks. If Parrish wanted to play the drinking game, Derek would play. Hard. He snuck Parrish a cherry from the garnish tray as he waited for their new drinks. The deputy eyed the fruit cautiously, eyes flicking between Derek’s passive face and the seemingly harmless cherry, before leaning in and grabbing it between his teeth. He watched anxiously as Parrish pulled the stem into his mouth and worked his tongue furiously for a moment. As the bartender returned with their drinks, Parrish presented him with a perfectly tied cherry stem and a grin. Derek couldn’t keep the impressed look off of his face.

A look of victory passed over Parrish’s face until Derek handed him his new drink. It was bright orange and red in a fluted glass with a small sword shaped skewer of fruit, and a bright pink umbrella. He stared at the drink in his hands for a moment before looking up at Derek incredulously, impressed that the man was comfortable ordering something so ridiculous. Derek grinned back and raised his plain beer in a toast. 

“Oh you bastard,” Parrish chided as he clinked glasses resentfully. He downed half of the drink at once before stealing Derek’s beer and pushing the fruity drink into the other man’s hand. 

“Fair enough,” Derek chuckled as he finished the drink. Parrish finished the beer and pushed Derek out towards the floor.

“Alright sourpuss, it’s time to dance,” he announced gleefully. 

Derek practically froze in place. He hadn’t danced in public in years, since high school, before the fire. He used to love to dance; it was a great way to learn about your own body and release pent up energy. But now, he was so used to being on edge, being vigilant, he never let himself relax enough to just enjoy dancing. It wasn’t that he couldn’t dance anymore (while he didn’t really have a style of dance, he could move his body well enough) he just didn’t do it in public. Parrish slammed into the back of him while he panicked internally. The deputy spun him around to face him, staring him in the eyes as he grabbed his hand. 

“Derek, we’re gonna dance. Just one song. I want you to prove to yourself that you can have fun, with other people,” he said seriously. Derek’s stared back into Parrish’s eyes, searching for any hint of malevolence. Every time he had let someone make a decision for him, it had ended horribly. Hell, half of the decisions he made for himself ended horribly. Unexpectedly, he noticed Parrish’s breathing had started to match his own, as if he was actively trying to calm him down. It was a sweet gesture, more than he deserved. He swallowed hard and nodded once, allowing Parrish to lead him to the edge of the writhing mass.

\--

Stiles’ hand clamped down on Scott’s shoulder as he fought through the crowd of people hovering around the entrance. For some reason there was a line of people watching those who entered, judging them not-so-silently as they fought their way into the club. He felt Isaac latch onto his shoulder and looked back to see the other betas conga-lining their way into the club along with him. He had to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. 

Suddenly his senses opened and he was flooded with a tidal wave of sounds and smells: alcohol, sweat, lust, desire, semen, the pounding bass of the music tore through his head, the voices of the judges teasing him with harsh words. Stiles released Scott’s shoulder and clamped his hands over his ears, curling in on himself and breathing through his mouth, trying not to scream. He could feel the instinct to borough and hide kicking in as his eyes flashed amber at the floor.

He felt two sets of hand lift him from the floor and carry him towards a dark corner. He could faintly hear Erica’s voice through the cacophony of sounds.

“Out of the fucking way asshole! MOVE,” she shouted. Stiles chanced a peek ahead of him and felt his heart swell at the sight of Erica and Boyd physically lifting people out of their way. The looks on the other patrons’ faces were almost enough to make up for the pain searing through him as his senses were thoroughly assaulted. He realized then that Scott and Isaac were the ones carrying him to the darkest corner of the club. As they neared the wall, Erica pulled back a black curtain and kicked a door open that Stiles hadn’t even noticed. 

“Teddy, you stand guard. I’ll let you know when we need back in,” she instructed Boyd with a kiss to his cheek, before leading the others out into an alley. 

As soon as the door slammed shut, Stiles started to feel better. Isaac and Scott slowly lowered themselves to the ground, pulling Stiles with them, so he was eventually sitting on his own. The three boys looked up at Erica, impressed. She grinned down at them.

“No one ever realizes that door is there. But my dad is in insurance. I’ve been taught to find every fire exit when I enter a building. I saw it within minutes of my first visit,” she said plainly, not a hint of smugness to her words. 

“Thanks,” Stiles offered weakly. “I’m not sure why I thought I would be able to just walk in there without any issue.” Scott looked down at him sympathetically. 

“You always manage to handle whatever’s thrown at you. Why would you ever think there was something you couldn’t take,” he asked earnestly. Stiles smiled up at him. Scott really was the best friend he could have ever asked for.

“Do you want to leave,” Isaac asked cautiously. 

“Not really. I really want to see Mr. Sour Wolf trying to dance. Especially with Randy. It’ll be hilarious,” he deflected. Truthfully, his stomach was in knots at the idea of Derek in anyone else’s arms, but he couldn’t exactly admit that. His hand absently drifted towards his neck, rubbing at the no longer visible mark. 

“Ok guys, teach me really quickly how to keep my senses in check,” he ordered optimistically. Erica chuckled at him, but Scott looked concerned.

“You really do want to see him make a fool of himself don’t you,” Erica asked.

“Are you sure man, this might be a bit severe for your first practice at shutting off your senses,” Scott warned patiently. 

“I know,” Stiles admitted, “but as you said, there’s nothing I can’t handle. I just gotta figure out how.” He looked up at Scott expectantly, waiting for his advice, knowing that his best friend would cave to his whims soon enough. Scott sighed and wrapped a hand around Stiles’ shoulder.

“Ok, first things first. Figure out which sense is strongest, because that’s the one you’re gonna have to focus on controlling.”

Erica plopped down in front of Stiles and watched the exchange, preparing her own advice in her mind as she waited.

\--

Boyd stood in the dark corner of the club, guarding the door and keeping one ear open for a signal from Erica. He realized absently that his decision to wear dark clothes made him blend into the corner completely, so he was free to watch the clientele without being disturbed at all. He took a deep breath, searching for familiar scents, eyes scanning the room, seeking his alpha. Derek’s scent was harder to pick out than he expected, but he found it quickly enough. 

Surprisingly Derek was at the edge of the dance floor, and he was actually dancing. Boyd smiled at the sight; it was about time Derek cut loose a little. He looked almost happy, twisting along to the upbeat music, Deputy Parrish matching his every move. Boyd wondered vaguely what that meant for Stiles. He knew there was a connection between the boy and his alpha, but they seemed to be keeping it quiet, so he was too. 

Suddenly, Boyd noticed a group of people coming towards him, moving through the darkness of the club like a shadow. He had been so distracted by the image of his alpha dancing carelessly that he didn’t notice the intruders until they were practically on him. 

“Boyd,” Lydia acknowledged calmly as the group came into view. Jackson stood at her left with Danny in tow. Behind her stood Allison, looking sheepishly at the ground. 

“Lydia,” he responded simply, eying the group in front of him skeptically. Jackson rolled his eyes and sighed impatiently, earning him a stern look from Danny.

“What are you doing hiding in the dark like your creeper friend? And where’s the rest of your merry band of idiots,” he sneered. Boyd stood up straight, stretching to his full height, puffing out his chest, and took one threatening step towards Jackson. He smiled as the boy shuffled back nervously.

“I think you’d better watch how you talk about my ‘merry band’. We don’t take insults lightly. And you wouldn’t want to send the wrong impression. It could be…hazardous to your continued health,” he stated calmly, eyes skipping to Allison for a moment before landing back on Jackson’s cautious face. Allison’s face snapped up, her eyes narrowing on Boyd’s offensive stance.

“Ok, let’s take it down a notch guys,” Danny suggested pleadingly, stepping in front of Jackson. Boyd wondered absently how often Danny was the only reason Jackson didn’t get beat up more often. He suspected it was a pretty common occurrence. He nodded once, patiently, and stepped back. 

“So,” Lydia interrupted, breaking the tension, “not that that wasn’t a fascinating exchange, but seriously where are the rest of them?” As soon as she asked, there was knock on the hidden door. Boyd saw Jackson startle at the unexpected sound, but the others took no notice, the music from the club sufficiently dulling their hearing. He reached back and pushed the door open to reveal Scott and Isaac smiling brightly. 

Scott bounded into the club, dashing forward to lift Allison into a swinging hug, clearly ecstatic at her surprise appearance. Isaac stepped back into the club less enthusiastically, his eyes aimed down, avoiding looking directly at Allison or Lydia. Stiles and Erica stepped in, arm in arm, each wearing a devious grin which could only mean trouble.

“Well, this is an unexpected surprise,” Stiles observed sarcastically. Lydia frowned up at him. She seemed to want to say something, but was trying to work out how to word it.

“What are you doing here,” Jackson interrupted gruffly, stepping back in front of Danny. Now that Stiles was his target, he figured he could return to his dominant stance.

“Well you see, Jackson, this is a dance club. So my best guess? We’re here to dance,” Stiles snarked. Erica stifled a giggle behind her hand at Jackson’s furious expression.

“Whatever nerds. Just keep your freak show away from us,” he hissed back, pulling Danny along with him as he stalked away. He went out of his way to run into Scott who was desperately making out with Allison against the wall. If Stiles didn’t know they were such wonderful people, he would think they were complete deviants based on the display.

“Don’t worry,” Lydia offered offhandedly, “He’s just in a pissy mood because Danny has been getting more action than him tonight. Besides, I was the one who wanted to talk to you.” Stiles balked at her for a moment, letting the knowledge that Jackson was pissed off because he wasn’t getting enough attention at a gay bar sink in fully. 

“Anyway,” Lydia continued carefully, “I just thought I should warn you, before you ran into him, that Derek is here. With another guy.” There was a look of deep concern on her face that had never been directed at Stiles before; he wasn’t sure how to handle it.

“Uh, yeah, I know,” Stiles admitted, a look of confusion on his face. “That’s why we’re here. To spy on him.” Lydia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Oh! So you’re okay with it? Huh, I would’ve pegged you for the jealous type,” she mumbled to herself. 

Stiles stared back at her blankly. He was definitely the jealous type; he had been fighting the pangs of jealousy ripping through his body since he left the station. Logically, he knew Derek was here with Randy as friends. But instinctually, it still felt like an invasion, like Randy was trying to take Derek from him. Stiles didn’t like it. He knew that he and Derek had claimed each other that day in the woods, and that the claim was an actual bond that he could feel, but he didn’t know how exclusive those kinds of bonds were meant to be. But he could feel himself getting angrier the more he thought about it and took a deep breath to calm himself before responding. 

Well, it would have been calming, except there, in midst of all the smells mixing in the air of the club, he caught the faint hint of home and smoky pine. He felt the sharp pull of the bond in his gut and actually had to stop himself from following it. As soon as Derek’s scent hit his nose, all of his senses sprang to life, targeting the alpha, seeking out his location in the crowded room. 

“Why would I care,” he attempted lamely, finally looking back at Lydia. She gave him an unimpressed look.

“Stiles, I know you. I know when you have a crush. And I also noticed the not-very-subtle stains on your pants after that lacrosse practice.” Stiles eyes widened with fear. He didn’t know which was worse, Lydia knowing about him and Derek, or the fact that she was about to out them to the rest of the pack. He darted forward, grabbing her arm in an attempt to lead her somewhere more private before continuing.

“Um, sweetie, you have an unexpected visitor,” she whispered, looking pointedly behind him. Stiles turned back to see his tail sticking out from under his shirt. 

“Ohmygod, are you kidding?!” Stiles’ hand slapped to his forehead in defeat. Apparently his senses were a bit overzealous in seeking out Derek and he had actually started to transform because he definitely hadn’t had a tail a few minutes ago. It struck him suddenly that he hadn’t even felt the tail grow this time. So, there was at least one positive outcome of this botched evening. 

“Dammit,” he sighed, “Looks like I’m headed home after all.”

“Wait, I mean, I’ve seen guys here wearing random tails before. Maybe we can pass it off as fake,” Erica suggested. Stiles stared at her vacantly.

“You mean, like, furries,” Stiles ask skeptically. Erica rolled her eyes at his close-mindedness. 

“No, you ass. Some people just like the idea of a tail. They’re cute. I mean, you seemed to enjoy yours before, so I can see the appeal. Even if they can’t really feel it, it’s fun to imagine. Plus it’s something to draw attention to your fabulous ass.” She leered at his backside for a moment before flashing him a wicked smile. She seemed pretty confident and Stiles really did want to see Derek trying to dance…

“What the hell. It’s not like they haven’t seen weirder shit here,” he joked, throwing a dirty look towards Jackson where he was sulking near the bar. Isaac and Erica laughed with him, but Lydia walked away huffily, pulling Allison away from Scott on her way. 

Stiles was feeling cautiously optimistic about the rest of the evening. As long as he could keep his senses in check and his tail subdued, everything should be alright. Isaac seemed to read his thoughts, 

“Just remember, if your senses start to open too far, pick one thing to focus on until you rein them back in,” he reminded him. Stiles swallowed down the anxiety threatening to spill out and turned to face the crowds of dancing patrons. 

Boyd looked down at Stiles’ exposed tail blankly.

“That’s going to be fun to deal with here,” he warned ominously.

“Thanks, dick. I know that. But it’s clearly not going away any time soon, so we’re just going with it for now,” Stiles threw back defensively. 

“Hey, I think it’s cool. And you’re right; they’ve definitely seen weirder here. But that thing kind of has a mind of its own,” he reminded Stiles patiently. 

“I’m just not gonna think about it and pretend it doesn’t exist,” Stiles feigned cheerfully before pushing off into the crowded room following the pull in his gut. Erica pulled Boyd and Isaac along behind her as she followed after Stiles, swaying her hips to the music along the way. Scott followed sullenly; his hand prodded at his lips, still swollen from where Allison’s had been moments before. However, by the time the pack had fully submerged themselves into the crowd, all of them were shaking their hips and moving to the beat enthusiastically. 

\--

Derek panted as he leaned over the bar to order two waters. He and Randy had been dancing and fighting off unwanted advances for over an hour and they needed the break. Randy crashed down onto a stool next to him, leaning heavily against the bar and laughing as he accepted the water from the bartender. 

“You see? I knew you would have fun if you just let go for a little,” he yelled over to Derek as his tongue tried to find the straw in his water. While the alcohol had already burned through Derek’s body, Randy was well on his way to drunk. 

“That you did, Randy,” Derek agreed with a smile. The man’s positivity was actually infectious. Derek hadn’t just danced for the past hour; he had danced with people, at the behest of his new friend. Who was now grinning up at him broadly.

“That’s the first time you actually called me Randy,” he giggled. Derek rolled his eyes at the sentimentality. “Oh no, don’t you roll those eyes at me. This is a big deal. You’re finally willing to see me as a friend and not just a deputy. Let’s celebrate with a shot!”

Derek pulled Randy’s hand down before he could wave the bartender over. He knew from the last time Randy drank that he had pretty poor tolerance and he didn’t want him getting too tipsy. 

“How about we celebrate with a dance,” Derek suggested, hoping the movement would get the water into Randy’s system quicker. Randy’s eyes lit up.

“A real dance? Just me and you,” he asked excitedly. Derek nodded as held a hand out for Randy to grab. But Randy jumped up from the bar and snaked his arm around Derek’s waist before he could stop him. He settled his arm across Randy’s shoulders and led him back to the dance floor, a small, private smile playing across his lips. 

\--

A small circle had opened up around the pack while they danced. It was due, in part, to Stiles’ erratic, limb-flailing, dance moves that seemed to take up far more space than should be possible. But mostly it was caused by Erica and Allison who had scared away any potential interlopers. Stiles grinned at the sight of Allison and Erica dancing around Isaac while he stared helplessly at the ceiling trying desperately to escape. 

Stiles had expected a major confrontation when Scott pulled Allison into their group on the dance floor, whether between her and Erica, or because of his own furry situation. But Allison had just given his a tail a quick glance and moved on, as if it wasn’t an issue at all. Although she may have thought it was fake, like the rest of the patrons. Before long, she had also proven herself to the rest of the pack by chasing off one of the creepy straight guys who came to the club to prey on the women there. It was disgusting that there were people sleazy enough to track women down in a gay club, which is already their last resort if they want to mostly dance in peace, to try to force themselves onto them. Not to mention the fact that most of the women there were actually gay and wouldn’t ever want some random guy on them to begin with. Stiles had a feeling this particular man wouldn’t be trying that ploy again anytime soon though; Allison had practically broken his wrist when he reached for Erica’s ass. She held him in a standard police hold and led him to the hidden exit before literally kicking him out onto the street. Stiles knew there was still some bad blood between the pack and Allison, but they had all cheered through her entire walk back from ‘taking out the trash’. 

After that, it turned into a regular fun night out. They even forgot to look for Derek once they started dancing. Erica made her way through the entire pack, grinding and twirling around each before heading back to Boyd. At some point Lydia joined their little circle and put on a huge show of dancing with Allison as if she were a stripper pole. Stiles could just see Jackson across the crowd, boiling with rage. He vaguely wondered what the jerk had done to push Lydia so far, but decided the list was too long to think about. It turned out he had done nothing; Lydia just happened to really like Allison and also lost all inhibition after a couple of (illegal) drinks. Stiles would have felt uncomfortable on Allison’s behalf, but she didn’t seem to have any qualms about grabbing onto Lydia’s hips and grinding right back into her ass as she bent down and shook it for all she was worth. Which was a lot. Scott and Isaac had nearly passed out when Allison slowly ran her hands up from Lydia’s hips slowly, dragging her fingers teasingly across her stomach, and ending at her breasts with a quick fondle as she thrust her hips hard against the other girl. 

It said something significant about Stiles’ new bond that the display didn’t have him melting into a puddle right there on the floor alongside them. 

Actually Stiles had already been sporting a semi for the past half hour, but it had nothing to do with the ladies dancing in front of him. Erica had been right in thinking that his tail would be seen as a novelty by the crowds. He’d had countless people come up and compliment him on his “awesome twink tail”, which was only slightly insulting since he did not consider himself a twink by any means (a switch hitter maybe, but not a twink). The attention was flattering for the most part, but it started to get awkward pretty quickly; the more attention he got, the more people started to play with his tail as they passed. When it was a quick pat of the fluffy fur, it didn’t bother him. But some people were a little more intrigued with his tail, taking their time to stroke it slowly from base to tip, gently. Needless to say, since Stiles could feel everything they were doing, the sensations were slightly overwhelming. With every stroke, a shiver ran through his body, leading straight to his groin. And with every overeager tug from the drunken masses, his tail became more sensitive. He was beginning to worry that he would end up loosing control in the middle of the dance floor. 

Boyd seemed to notice Stiles’ mood shifting from jovial to anxious and sidled up next to him during a break in the music. 

“Maybe you should go find Derek,” he suggested bluntly, “I’m pretty sure he’d be willing to help you out.” Stiles stared back at him with wide eyes. Did Boyd know about them too? Shit, who didn’t know at this point?

“I don’t need -,” Stiles started, but his voice wouldn’t let him finish the lie. “I don’t know where he is,” he confessed quietly. Boyd smiled and pointed to the opposite corner of the floor.

“I’d check over there if I were you,” he said with a wink. Stiles nudged him with his shoulder in thanks and allowed himself to be sucked back in to the crowd, disappearing from the group without so much as a wave. 

Stiles slowly fought his way through the mass of writhing bodies to the other side of the room. There were people everywhere, jostling into him at every turn. Every so often someone would grab onto him and try to get him to dance, thrusting their hips at him or wrapping their arms around his neck, but he would politely raise his hands in surrender before pulling away a little too forcefully. He had lost sight of Derek long before he dove into the crowd, but he could still faintly smell him, and he could feel the tug of the bond in his gut. He let his instincts blindly lead him through the club until he popped out on the other side of the mass, panting for air. The scent of Derek was so strong he knew he had to be standing right next to him. He opened his eyes and quickly scanned the side of the room, searching for the alpha. What he found had his jaw dropping open in shock. 

Parrish was leaning back against Derek’s bare chest, wriggling to the music and pulling Derek’s arms around him. His shirt and vest were almost completely unbuttoned, which made it more convenient as he led Derek’s hand under his shirt and down his stomach. 

Stiles’ eyes burned amber as his vision clouded over with rage, heat searing through his veins, jealousy filling his every cell, his eyes narrowing down to one solitary target. He could feel a low hiss emanating from the back of his throat as he stalked forward, hands fisting at his sides, ready to kill. Claws punched through his fingertips, the sharp points digging into his palms until he could feel his own blood spilling over them. 

Derek looked up then, sniffing at the air, recognizing the scent of blood. Not just blood, Stiles’ blood. His panicked eyes scanned the room until they landed on Stiles, widening in surprise at the murderous look on his face. He pulled his hands away from Parrish abruptly and leaned in to whisper something in his ear before pulling away altogether and making a beeline for Stiles.

“What’s happening? Why are you here? Why are you furry,” he rushed out, desperation apparent in his voice as he grasped at Stiles’ arms. 

Stiles glared back at him. The scent of Parrish’s sweat coating Derek’s chest stung at his nose. His stomach turned at the realization that Parrish had tried to take what was his. He reached out and sank his claws into Derek’s neck, pulling him forward and claiming his mouth furiously. He hadn’t noticed before, but his teeth felt sharper, more dangerous, as his tongue grazed through them, seeking entrance to Derek’s mouth. 

Derek’s breath punched out of him in surprise as Stiles tongue probed into his mouth, tasting every inch of him before allowing Derek’s tongue to fight back. He let Stiles lead, let him tilt his head whichever direction he needed to for better purchase, let him wrap his other clawed hand tightly around his waist, pulling his hips flush against his own. Derek groaned at the feel of Stiles’ erection pressing against his leg; he thought he had smelled lust on the boy, but now he had the physical proof digging into his hip, delightfully. 

He reached behind Stiles, wrapping his hands under his ass (allowing himself a moment of surprise at the presence of a tail), before lifting Stiles clear off the ground. Stiles wrapped his long, gangly legs firmly round Derek’s waist, placing his arms neatly around his neck, leaning his head down against his shoulder. The boy’s tongue lapped at the wounds his claws had left on Derek’s neck. The warm, wet feeling of Stiles’ tongue against his skin sent a spark through Derek’s body. 

They needed to be somewhere private, now. 

He hauled Stiles to the back of the club, towards the door hidden behind the curtain. No one seemed to realized that there was a hidden alcove next to the door. No one except Derek. He spun around once, making sure they weren’t followed before ducking behind the curtain and pressing Stiles’ back up against the wall. The boy keened as Derek’s mouth latched onto his throat, his tongue massaging the muscles as they clenched under his teeth. He knew the risks. He knew that Stiles was underage. But Stiles needed him, and Derek desperately wanted to be needed. He kissed his way up Stiles’ neck, nipping along his jaw, until his mouth was pressed against his ear, breath tickling against his skin.

“I need to stand. Use your legs,” he whispered before ducking down and licking a long, slow, strip up Stiles’ neck. He could feel the shiver run through the boy’s body as Derek’s breath ghosted across the wet stripe. He felt Stiles’ legs drop slowly down to the ground, taking his weight shakily as Derek bit into his shoulder gently. Stiles’ hands roamed over the planes of Derek’s chest greedily, his long, sinful fingers, softly rolling his nipples until they formed into hard buds, before teasing down his ribs and pulling him forward by the waist of his jeans. Stiles found his mouth once more and wasted no time licking into it, breathing deeply through his nose, inhaling the pure scent and flavor of Derek. 

Stiles whined with need as Derek’s hips writhed against him, sending waves of pleasure through him from glorious friction. Suddenly Derek pulled away. Stiles reached out for him, determined to continue. Derek just grinned at him and fell to his knees. 

Stiles’ jaw dropped as realization hit. His hips wiggled in anticipation as Derek’s fingers nimbly worked at his belt, his button, his zipper, until all that was left between them was a thin pair of boxers. Derek looked up at him, his pupils blown wide with desire, and curled his fingers into the waist of Stiles’ underwear, pulling them down hard. His pants and boxers bunched up half way down his thigh, just low enough to expose his dick to the cool air. A sigh of want escaped Derek’s throat as he licked his lips in anticipation. Stiles leaned his head back against the cool brick, unable to watch for fear of coming before Derek had even touched him. He was already leaking, so he wasn’t going to last long to begin with, but the sight of Derek, with his dick in his mouth, would easily push him over the edge. 

He felt the alpha’s breath ghost across his head just before he licked a long, wet stripe from base to tip. Stiles sucked in a breath as every nerve in his body sung to life. Derek’s hands curled around Stiles’ hips as he wrapped his lips around the head of his cock, sucking gently, his tongue teasing at the slit. Stiles couldn’t stop the wanton moan that slid from his lips as Derek pushed down, taking him in, inch by inch. The soft suction and heat of Derek’s mouth was intoxicating. Stiles’ legs shook as Derek pulled back slowly, his soft lips dragging across his skin, his tongue rolling along the underside of his dick. His breathing turned to shallow pants as Derek began to bob his head up and down the shaft, swirling his tongue around the head on every third pass, and humming a deep growling hum at random that sent waves of vibration through Stiles’ body. Stiles’ hands shot forward, fingers twisting into Derek’s thick hair, directing his mouth forward to take more, so much more. His head whipped side to side at the contrasting sensations of Derek’s wicked mouth and his stubble, which set fire to his thighs every time he pulled him in. Derek pulled off slowly with a pop and looked up at Stiles. His lips were swollen and glistened with spit and precome. Stile hooked a finger under his chin, pulling his face up so he could bend down and lick the taste from Derek’s lips. The alpha wrapped a hand around Stiles’ neck and held him there while he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He didn’t let go until his other hand was wrapped around Stiles’ dick, pumping him lazily as he licked at his swollen lips. 

He released Stiles’ lips and watched as the boy pulled back and thrust his hips forward involuntarily. Derek could tell he was close. He swirled his tongue around the head before sucking it into his mouth, simultaneously working the shaft expertly with his hand. He reveled in the soft noises slipping from Stiles throat. He ducked his head down and tongued at Stiles’ sac, feeling the tension that anticipated his release. With a grin, he placed a kiss to the sensitive skin before sucking half of it into his mouth, rolling the weight of it over his tongue. Stiles practically doubled over in pleasure, a high, constant whine escaping him. Derek released him all at once and pulled back to look at his face. Red splotches covered his cheeks and his mouth was propped open, ruby red lips gasping for air. 

“Derek,” he begged, voice broken with need, “please.” Derek’s eyes sparked red at the desperation in Stiles’ voice. His stomach flipped with desired as Stiles’ amber eyes flashed back at him. 

He sank his mouth back over Stiles dick, taking him all the way to the base before pulling back. He set a quick pace, bobbing his head up and down over Stiles dick, pulling a stream of profanity from the boy’s lips. One hand wormed its way down to caress Stiles’ balls. He could feel Stiles’ orgasm building to the breaking point, the boy above him gasping and clutching at whatever he could reach. 

Derek looked up at Stiles’ desperate face and decided to try something risky. He shifted his hand from Stiles’ sac to his ass. He kneaded the soft flesh under his fingers, giving a couple small pinches for good measure, before inching his way to Stiles’ cleft. Derek’s hand started just below Stiles’ tail and swept down over the swell of his ample bottom, his middle finger probing along the cleft as he went. He quickly found what he was searching for; his finger stroking gently at Stiles’ hole, pressing lightly against the rim before rubbing in soothing circles. 

Derek glanced up to see Stiles staring at him with wide, innocent eyes. He nodded once and sucked in a deep breath, propping his hip back to give Derek more space to work. A surge of heat unfurled in Derek’s abdomen at the show of pure trust. His skin sang with the need to taste Stiles. Derek pulled his hand back and sucked his own fingers into his mouth, coating them with saliva before returning them to Stiles’ hole. He sucked Stiles’ dick back into his mouth and resumed his pace. He pressed at the ring of muscle until it gave way, sucking his finger in to the first knuckle. He wiggled his finger slowly, allowing Stiles to adjust before pushing forward, sweeping at the soft flesh inside. 

Stiles keened hard above him, sucking in a lungful of air and pulling at Derek’s hair as his hips bucked forward and back, alternate fucking into Derek’s mouth and back onto his hand. Derek could feel his own orgasm coming just from the taste of Stiles on his lips and the sounds of his moans in his ears. He loosened his throat and swallowed Stiles down until his nose was buried in the nest of hair at the base of his cock, swallowing around the head as he pulled his finger out and thrust it back in. He felt Stiles seize above him, claws digging into his shoulder as he shot hot, salty, release down Derek’s throat, his hips still lurching forward absently. Derek pulled back slowly, his tongue laving at the underside of Stiles’ cock, as his finger slipped out of him. His hands clutched at Stiles’ ass as he milked Stiles’ through his aftershocks. 

Stiles finally pulled his dick out with a wet pop and dropped to his knees in front of Derek. He dragged the man forward by the neck, licking at his lips where some of his own come still clung. 

“That was incredible,” he breathed against the alpha’s lips, resting their foreheads together as he caught his breath. “Do you want me to…?”

“Not necessary,” Derek assured him. He had already finished before Stiles had even started. Stiles giggled against his lips, his breath filling Derek’s nose.

“What’s so funny?”

“This song,” he stated. “I can’t believe this song is playing right now.”

Derek listened closer, trying to pick out the words.

_I won’t be denied by you,  
The animal inside of you.   
Woah, I want some more.   
Woah, What are you waiting for?   
Take a bite of my heart tonight. ___

__Just as the last line rang through the speakers, Stiles leaned down and bit the skin directly over Derek’s heart. It didn’t hurt, but it sent a jolt of energy through Derek’s skin. Stiles let his head rest in the crook of Derek’s neck as he wound his arms around the alpha. The subtle motion surprised Derek, unsure of what was happening, but suddenly, after years of tragedy and pain, he felt safe and complete. His wolf hummed contentedly as he wrapped his arms around Stiles awkwardly. After the things they’d done, he didn’t expect a hug to feel so strangely intimate. Then again, he hadn’t really been hugged by anyone in a long, long time. He hadn’t realized how much he needed it. He sank into the embrace, letting their bodies meld into one awkward jumble on the floor, breathing in the soothing scent of honeysuckle. Stiles’ hair tickled against his neck as he leaned down and placed a soft kiss to the top of the boy’s head._ _

__Stiles sat up abruptly, staring at Derek with searching eyes._ _

__“This is more serious than I thought, isn’t it,” he asked quietly, as if afraid of the answer he might receive._ _

__Derek’s heart sank. Stiles had been just as naïve as he’d feared; he hadn’t understood what the bond would do, what it would mean. Technically a bond’s main effect was physical, but it only held if there was some emotional foundation for it to latch onto. And apparently Stiles’ foundation was more fleeting than Derek’s. He carefully schooled his features into a blank stare before answering._ _

__“A bond creates a strong connection between people…physically,” he added in an attempt to downplay the seriousness of the situation. Stiles’ face fell at Derek’s words, his hands moving to cover himself, fingers twisting together nervously._ _

__“Oh,” he breathed out, barely a whisper. “I thought…well I guess I thought there was something more happening here. What with you being gentle and…considerate.”_ _

__Derek listened to Stiles’ words in shock, his heartbeat was perfectly steady. Was Stiles upset about the bond being just physical? Did Stiles actually want Derek as much as he wanted Stiles? Stiles continued to ramble, filling the presumably awkward silence stretching between them during Derek’s revelation._ _

__“Maybe I’m just being weird because that was my first time. Man, I really didn’t think I’d be the type to cling to my first time, but then again, how was I supposed to know? Not like I’ve done it before. Ohmygod! Am I sexually active now? Can I actually say th-”_ _

__Stiles’ mutterings were cut short as Derek reached one hand up, placing it gently against the side of Stiles’ face, his thumb resting against the boy’s lips. Stiles looked up into Derek’s eyes with sheer hope._ _

__“A bond can only work if there’s some pre-existing connection. It would only be this strong if there were strong…feelings already there.” The words practically ripped from Derek’s throat. He hated talking about feelings, but it was worth it for the smile that lit Stiles’ face._ _

__“So, you actually do like me? And I’m not just imagining it? This isn’t just another step in my long line of unrequited crushes,” the boy asked excitedly._ _

__“You tell me,” Derek challenged as he leaned forward and pressed a chaste, meaningful kiss to Stiles’ lips. He could hear the quick swishing of Stiles tail as it wagged happily against the floor. Derek dragged a sigh from Stiles’ lips as he pulled back, his eyes closed, his ridiculous eyelashes casting dark shadows across his cheeks._ _

__“Yeah,” he whispered, voice content, “this is real.” He smiled back at Derek, his skin glowing with happiness. Derek couldn’t help the genuine smile on his own face. His eyes glanced down at Stiles’ now flaccid dick with a grin._ _

__“We should head back. And you should probably fix your pants,” he teased. Stiles’ hands flailed downward, trying to pull his pants up while he was still on his knees with little success. Derek laughed as he got to his feet and hauled Stiles up by the arm. He fidgeted with his pants and zipper for a moment until he was decent enough to be in public again. Derek peeled back the curtain and held it aside for Stiles to walk through._ _

__“What a gentleman,” he said sarcastically, stepping out into the club. He wrapped his arm around Derek’s waist and led them towards the dance floor. Derek threw his arm over Stiles’ shoulder and eyed the boy skeptically as he fidgeted with his pants with every other step. He pulled up short just as they passed the bar._ _

__“You know, I think I need to hit the bathroom, get myself situated right,” he announced self-consciously._ _

__“Go ahead,” Derek chuckled, “I’ll wait outside though. Last time I went in there, I was propositioned by five guys before I could even piss.” Stiles laughed._ _

__“Of course you were,” he said sarcastically, “maybe if you didn’t look like a freaking god or something, you wouldn’t seem so appealing to people.”_ _

__He winked back at Derek as he sauntered to the bathroom, his tail waving languidly as his hips swayed. Derek smiled after him. He knew now that he was in this…relationship…for good. Even with the law against him, even if he had to hide it until Stiles was of age, he knew this was what they both wanted, what they both needed. And he was willing to fight for it._ _

__\--_ _

__Stiles wiggled his way into the bathroom, narrowly avoiding multiple couples who were definitely in violation of the public decency laws. Not that he had room to talk anymore. He smiled to himself as the fact that he had just gotten an incredible blowjob from Derek in the middle of a packed club finally sank in. He wasn’t sure how he had ever gotten lucky enough to have someone like Derek even look his way, but now he actually had Derek. And it was thrilling._ _

__He wandered to the mirrors and stared at his reflection, taking in his now wrinkled clothing, the bright red hickey Derek left on his neck when he wasn’t paying attention, the way his pants were still slightly askew from trying to pull them up too quickly, the way his hair stuck out at odd angles from thrashing his head back against the wall. It wasn’t his most polished look, but it was quickly becoming his favorite. He grinned back at his reflection, content in the knowledge that his new look was completely Derek’s fault._ _

__Suddenly there was a rustling noise and his vision went black. He blinked furiously, trying to clear his sight. The noises of the club were muffled and distorted. He didn’t know what was happening. He tried to call out but his voice bounced back at him, dampened by…something._ _

__Was that fabric?_ _

__He had a split second of realization that someone had thrown a canvas sack over his head. His fists came up, muscles tensed, ready to defend himself. But a sudden sense of terror latched onto him, roiling deep in his gut. He needed to run, or to fight, but he couldn’t do either well without his senses. He did the only thing he could think of, no matter how humiliating it seemed: he screamed for help._ _

__“DEREK!”_ _

__Just as the word left his lips, something hard and heavy connected with the side of his head. The world went dark and silent as Stiles collapsed to the floor in an unconscious heap._ _


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we get to more of the action-y stuff. Sort of. There will be more, obviously, but yeah...
> 
> Sorry for the hold up on this one. I'm trying to get stuff written as quick as possible, but it doesn't always work. 
> 
> Thanks again to my awesome beta, Katelyn! She makes me feel like I'm not just writing crap for myself. 
> 
> Anywho, hope you enjoy.

Stiles woke groggily to the sound of pounding somewhere far off in the distance. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but the sound throbbed through his head. He hissed in a painful breath of stale air that tasted of gasoline and oil. Each time he shifted his neck in any way, pain exploded through his skull and the pounding got worse. His eyes squeezed shut tightly, tears leaking from the corners at the onslaught of noise and smells and pain. 

He lay perfectly still and waited for the pain and throbbing to subside. Slowly he realized the pounding was that of his own blood pulsing through his veins. The throbbing pain in his head must be from a wound. A brief memory flashed to the forefront of his mind: something cold and hard slamming into his head. Perfect, he thought, suddenly noticing the pull of sticky skin around his temple. He knew it was blood. A wave of panic crashed over him and he took a moment to calm himself. Panicking would do nothing to help him. He had to treat the situation clinically; figure out the extent of damage, where he was, who had taken him, how he could escape. 

Stiles reached up to test the severity of the wound, wondering if it had already healed closed, but sharp metal dug into his wrists, locking his impotent hands in place. The presence of handcuffs didn’t deter him; he had had more than enough experience escaping the ones his father used over the years. What could he say? He had always been a curious child. 

He glanced down to check what kind of cuff was currently linking his hands together, but his vision was completely blocked. Some kind of black bag was secured over his head, which explained the stale smell and the closeness of his own breath, but did little to settle his nerves. He slid his arms up experimentally, attempting to figure out what he was attached to, since the cuffs themselves wouldn’t actually stop his arms from moving. The chain of the cuffs seemed to be wrapped around a pole, which was anchored into the metal floor that dug at his hip and shoulder painfully. Ok, he thought, not the best situation. Apparently his kidnapper was smarter than most. Maybe he could knock the pole loose. He pulled his legs back, preparing to kick out at the metal, but he quickly realized as his legs were jerked to a sudden stop that his ankles were shackled to the pole as well. The panic welled back up in him. He couldn’t move his arms. He couldn’t move his legs. He couldn’t even see.

He was trapped.

Stiles’ heart began to race, pumping blood and adrenaline through his body, his head screaming at the surge of pressure. His lungs gulped in shallow breaths of toxic air as he tried to remember how he had gotten into this situation and how he could get out.

Images flashed through his memory: Scott and Isaac staring open mouthed while Allison and Lydia practically dry humped along to music; Parrish enthusiastically rubbing himself all over a shirtless Derek; Derek on his knees with Stiles’ dick in his mouth, eyes searching his face for approval; his own reflection staring back at him, clothes and hair a mess, a giant hickey peeking out from his collar; darkness. He remembered being at Jungle. He had gone to the bathroom after Derek had…well, after Derek, but everything since was a blur. 

His lungs began to clench, desperate pants filling the air around him as the panic gripped at him. He needed to calm down. Actually, what he needed was more information so he could work out an escape plan, but freaking out wasn’t exactly going to provide that, or help his situation at all. 

He forced himself to take a slow, steady breaths: in through his nose, trying not to gag at the overly strong scent of gasoline, and out in a smooth stream of air across his lips. He continued to breathe until his pulse returned to a more natural rate. He would figure this out.

A metallic knock rang through the room around him, stopping his breath short. His heart hammered in his chest. Even with his hearing dampened, he could tell from the echo that the room was small, but entirely made of metal. Like a van. Had he really been kidnapped and thrown in a van? How cliché can you get? The sound of metal screeching against metal shook him from his thoughts as the door opened. The van shook as heavy booted feet climbed in and paused next to Stiles’ prone form. Something that felt suspiciously like a cattle prod jabbed at his side. He flinched at the unexpected contact, but remained still otherwise. Hopefully if his kidnapper thought he was still passed out, he would get sloppy and Stiles could find a means of escape. 

Another pair of boots crunching through gravel heralded the approach a second kidnapper. Fantastic. The second person stopped at the back of the van, huffing impatiently.

“Are we moving him or not,” a gruff voice asked. There was a faint accent to the man’s speech, but it wasn’t clear enough to identify, most likely watered down from years of travel. The figure standing over him shuffled to face the interloper. 

“Would you rather know if he’s gonna fight us before or after we pick him up,” a surprisingly high-pitched voice spat back. So one of his kidnappers was a woman. Stiles wracked his brain for any possible women he had pissed off badly enough that they would feel the need to kidnap him, but nothing came to mind. He barely even talked to women, and the ones he did talk to barely gave him the time of day. 

“Yeah, yeah,” the gruff voice huffed. “So, all-knowing-one, is he gonna fight us?”

The woman didn’t respond, but walked to the front of the van. The pole gave a jolt as a heavy latch unhinged from one end. Apparently they were moving Stiles after all.

“If he does, we’ll just shock the fight out of him,” she said indifferently as the man released the other latch. The pole fell to the ground with a loud clang that jolted through Stiles’ body uncomfortably. 

The kidnappers then lifted the pole from both ends, leaving Stiles to hang off it from his shackles as they hauled him out of the van. He bit down hard on his lip to stop from crying out as his own weight caused the handcuffs to slice into his wrists, the shackles digging into has ankles uncomfortably, pulling at the skin. The crunch of gravel and the scraping of chain on metal were the only sounds as the kidnappers carried him away from the van. He tried to focus beyond the pain in his wrists, and the pull at his shoulders as they slowly started to dislocate, to listen for any clues to his location. The sound of gravel gave way to the sound of boots scuffing across concrete, echoing through an empty room, but everything else around him was silent. No birds or crickets chirping, no mice or rats scurrying around, no cars, no people, nothing but silence. 

How could he be somewhere completely uninhabited? He didn’t know how long he had been knocked out, but it couldn’t have been that long. There wasn’t anywhere in Beacon Hills that would be this quiet. Places like this didn’t exist in the real world. Did they? He hissed out a pained whine as the kidnappers dropped him callously onto the cold hard floor. 

“Was that really the most efficient way to carry the boy,” a third voice called out from across the room. How many freaking kidnappers were there? The voice should have been soothing: a deep, velvety, baritone that rang with sincerity and concern. But Stiles shuddered at the sound. His hair stood on end, instinct screaming at him that this was not someone to be trusted. 

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted the kid hogtied like he’s about to be spit roasted,” the woman sniped, “I figured, why not present him in a similar fashion?”

Faint footsteps echoed across the room as the…leader?...approached. Stiles hoped they would assume he was passed out and continue to talk for a while. The more time they wasted, the more intel he could collect. So far, all he had gathered was that there were three of them and they most likely traveled a lot, and they each had fired a gun recently. He also hoped that stalling long enough would give the pack enough time to find him. He knew it was a long shot since they wouldn’t have realized he was missing for a while, possibly at all, and aside from that minor detail, the scent of gasoline in the van was definitely strong enough to hide his own. Ok, maybe relying on the pack wasn’t the best plan. The leader’s footsteps stopped right in front of him. He kept his breath slow and shallow, trying to force his pulse to a more believable resting rate.

“It’s okay Stiles, you don’t have to pretend,” the silky baritone chuckled. 

Stiles blood ran cold. How did this guy know his name? And what did he think Stiles was pretending? Did he know Stiles was pretending to be asleep? Pretending to be human? The thought sent a spark of desperate fear through him. Was this the rogue hunter? Was there actually a group of rogue hunters? It made too much sense to be wrong. These had to be hunters. Unfamiliar hunters. Would they really think twice before killing him? His heart rabbited in chest as the horror of his situation fully crashed down around him. 

“Now, now little one. No need to get so worked up,” the velvety voice cooed as if it could hear Stiles thoughts, “We just need your help for a little while and then you’re free to go.”

Stiles remained motionless, still hoping he could fake them out. The man sighed as he crouched down and gently removed the bag from around Stiles’ head. Stiles forced his face to remain blank, keeping his eyes closed, his breathing slow. Even if his kidnappers clearly knew him, he could still claim ignorance about knowing them. As a deputy’s son, Stiles had been trained from a young age about kidnappings. He had been told repeatedly that you are more likely to survive if you never look kidnappers in the face; it makes it less likely that you’ll be able to identify them for the police, and increases the probability of release, though the odds were never great. 

“Stiles,” the voice ordered, no longer gentle and smooth, but angry and clipped, “You’re not fooling anyone. Open your eyes.”

Stiles stubbornly refused, pretending to be completely unaware that there were even people around him. He thought it was working until he felt a calloused hand slap him hard, straight across the cheek. His head ricocheted into his shoulder sending a new wave of pain through his skull. His eyes finally blinked open helplessly.

Stiles had intended to survey his surroundings, but the man in front of him completely stole his attention before he could look away. He was younger than Stiles expected, looked to only be about 27, with piercing blue eyes and a mess of dark blonde hair. His features were almost feminine in their delicacy, with lush lashes and full pink lips, but his overall appearance gave off an aura of concentrated power. His intense gaze stared back at Stiles, letting the boy’s eyes rove over his face to collect every detail. Stiles would have said the man was flawless, except for the thick, shiny scars that covered the side of his face. The same kind that had once covered a good portion of Peter Hale’s body, the kind that only come from fire. Stiles followed the scars down the man’s neck until they disappeared under his shirt. It looked like at least half of his body was covered in the thick ropes of scar tissue. It was clear that the scars were at least a few years old. Stiles wondered vaguely what had happened. 

His eyes finally drifted away from the man, taking in the rest of the room, the random lights hanging from their sockets scattered throughout the room, throwing just enough light to give Stiles a decent view of the building. They were in a vacant, maybe 400 square foot, one-story building that looked like it had once been an office. There were cubical dividers and scraps of rolled up carpet along the walls as if someone had planned to renovate at some point, but had given up halfway through. The drop ceiling above had lost most of its acoustic tiling, leaving the steal girders of the industrial roof exposed. Stiles found it odd that voices didn’t echo more in the room. His gaze finally trailed to the back corner of the room. In the corner was a human sized cage covered in barbed wire. Stiles’ stomach turned at the sight, knowing that the cage was most likely for him. As he looked closer he noticed something small and orange curled up in the corner of the cage: it was the fox, looking broken and bloody. Stiles swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat. 

The man’s eyes followed Stiles’ gaze to the cage before turning back to him with a smile.

“I see you’re a curious one. I believe you’ve met our friend here,” he taunted with a flourish of his hand towards the cage. Stiles’ eyes shifted between the man and the fox, which had raised its head ever so slightly, as if trying to beg for help, or possibly to warn Stiles of something. It was a little late for a warning though. Stiles knew he didn’t have any real allies in this situation, but out of the people in the room, he was most willing to side with the fox. 

He finally sat up, propping his knees up in front of his chest and resting his hands on them. It wasn’t an overtly threatening or defensive position, it was casual, but still guarded his vital organs. He needed ambiguity here, not provoking, but not cowering either. He tilted his head and looked back at the scarred man curiously. 

“I’m actually more interested to find out the name of the overly clichéd kidnapper who actually used a freaking child snatcher van to transport me. WITH a bag over my head,” Stiles quipped with a quizzical raise of one brow, “I mean, shit, do you have no sense of creativity at all? Did the van have ‘Free Candy’ written on it too?”

He heard a snicker from behind him, followed by a slap. The man in front of him sat back on his heals with a quiet grin.

“You really have quite a mouth on you. Maybe we’ll do something about that,” he mused. Stiles was not comforted by the flat tone of his voice. “I suppose you do deserve something for being such a good sport.” Stiles scoffed at that. The man gestured to the man and woman behind him. 

“You’ve already met Richard, I believe in the bathroom of a gay club,” he said with a sneer, looking up at the man for confirmation before continuing. “Tsk. You should know better than to go into a place like that, especially looking the way you do. They’ll eat a twink like you alive.” Stiles was proud that he didn’t flinch away from the manic smirk on the man’s face as he discussed eating him alive.

“The other is Katie. She’s a friend of the family. And an expert with knives, in case you’re getting any ideas about trying to run right now.” As if on cue, a knife flew through the air, embedding itself into a left over post it note on one of the cubical dividers a good twenty feet away. Stiles did flinch slightly at that, much to the delight of his captors.

“As for me, you can call me Rey.” The man extended a hand in false hospitality before looking down at Stiles’ shackles with a shrug. Rather than letting his unreciprocated handshake fall, he reached forward to ruffle Stiles’ hair. Stiles couldn’t help the reflex to shake the touch away, violently, sending another wave of pain through his head. Rey’s face fell.

“Stiles, don’t be like that. I told you, we only need you for a little bit and then you’re free to go,” Rey said sincerely. Stiles didn’t buy it for a second.

“Right,” Stiles scoffed, “So you’ll just let me go? So I can tell everyone that some nut, with a rather unique and obvious description by the way, gave me a concussion, kidnapped me, and held me hostage for a while?” Rey’s smile stayed in place as Stiles spoke.

“Oh Stiles,” he sighed with a shake of his head, “You’re not going to tell anyone about us, which is why I’ve given you our names and let you see my face. See, we’re here on our own mission, and as of now, you’re not part of it. We just need your help for a little while and we needed you to look unwilling. Once we finish what we came here for, you’ll be worthless to us. In a good way,” he assured quickly. “We don’t bother people who are worthless to us.” Rey looked at Stiles as if his words were meant to be comforting. Stiles gaped back at him dubiously. Rey chuckled at his disbelief. 

“Hand to god: we aren’t here for you. If you cooperate, we let you go, scot-free. And if you don’t, well…” his voice faded out as he gave Stiles a leering once over. “We’ve been watching you, Stiles. We know what you are, and we know what we’re allowed to do to things like you. We also know who is in your family. So, if you cause problems, they die.”

Stiles glared back at the man, eyes glowing amber with rage. He could feel his teeth sharpening as he ground them together, the heat of his anger searing through his body. 

“If you ever come near my father, death will be the least of your worries,” he hissed up at the man, biting out the words as his claws ripped through his fingertips. He could feel his senses narrowing down to Rey’s vital organs and kill points, plotting the slowest and most painful death possible. Rey just smiled back at him.

“I like your spunk, kid. But your father is nowhere near the top of your family’s hit list,” Rey revealed. Stiles glowered back, confusion shifting his features. He didn’t have any other family, at least none that he talked to, definitely none that could be observed after only a few weeks in town. Rey’s expression almost looked pitying before taunting Stiles further. 

“You have no idea, do you? You thought that little bite on your neck made you part of a wolf pack? Stiles, no. I expected more from you. You’re not part of a pack. You’re a fox. You can’t have a pack. You have a family. And you’ve chosen yours quite clearly. ” Stiles face fell as the words sunk in.

“Now what were their names again,” Rey continued, reveling in Stiles sudden desperation. “Of course your partner in crime, Scott, can’t be excluded. And I remember a pretty little thing, fiery temper with hair to match. Lydia, was it,” he asked. Stiles’ eyes widened with fear. “Yes, Lydia. I can see the appeal, truly. She is a magnificent specimen. And then there’s the slutty blonde, with the black boyfriend, and their little mousy friend. You really do have interesting taste in family,” he said with a sneer. “But I think your mate really takes the cake. That train wreck of a man who can barely take care of himself, let alone a pack of misfit teenagers. And you think he can protect you? Why? Because he’s a wolf?” Rey shook his head in false despair. Stiles was still gaping at him, his mind flipping between blind rage at the threats to all of his friends, and dumbfounded confusion at the word mate. 

“As I said, we’ve been watching you. Just play along, help us out, and then you’re free to return to your ragtag group of misfits and pedophiles.” The confusion in Stiles’ mind morphed into indignant hatred immediately. He didn’t know how, he didn’t know when, but he was sure in that moment that Rey would die by his hands. The man rose to his feet and motioned for Richard and Katie to lift Stiles to his. 

“Now, first things first, we need you to keep up the whole kidnapping ruse, so you’re going to go hang out with your little furry friend over there. Got it?”

Stiles snapped at Richard’s hand as he pulled him up. The man pulled his hand back, ready to strike Stiles for the insolence, but paused at a simple hand motion from his leader. Rey stalked forward calmly and pulled a Taser from his pocket, letting it spark to life mere inches from Stiles’ face, the pulsing blue electricity causing his hair to stand on end.

“It would be to your own benefit to just play along. You’re going to be here regardless, so why make it harder on yourself?” The Taser flashed in front of Stiles’ face once more, sending a shiver down Stiles’ back. 

He hung his head in defeat and allowed Richard to lead him to the cage in the back corner as Katie and Rey disappeared into a back room. It wasn’t worth fighting just yet. He still needed information and he had no chance of fighting his way out on his own. At least he would have company in the cage. Maybe they could figure something out together. 

The fox curled into the far corner, trembling as the hunter approached with Stiles. If it had any instinct to bolt when the cage opened, it squashed it, settling further down, flattening itself onto the floor, trying to hide. Stiles hesitated at the cage door. He knew he couldn’t fight Richard off on his own, and he wouldn’t know how to escape if he did, but he couldn’t let himself willingly give in so easily. The man grew impatient with Stiles’ wavering and pushed him hard, forcing him into the cage, making his feet catch on the lip of the opening. Stiles fell forward, landing hard on his hands and knees; the concrete floor dug into his skin and tore at his palms painfully. 

“Can’t make you look too complacent. Gotta sell it, kid. You don’t want to know what happens if you put on a shitty show,” Richard warned. Stiles still wasn’t sure what they meant by putting on a show. It wasn’t like he was actually a willing participant in this kidnapping, in fact he could think of thousands of places he’d rather be, but he thought better of arguing at the moment. Richard didn’t seem the type to have answers, but he definitely seemed the type to punish people for requesting them. Then again, Stiles was never good at self-preservation, or holding his tongue. 

“I’ll just be in my trailer, then,” Stiles spat back, with theatrical flourish of his hand. Richard chuckled as he slammed the cage door. 

“Keep it up, kid. Rey may think he speaks for all of us, but he doesn’t. He has his little code to cling to, but I don’t. You do anything to fuck this up, you can be sure none of your little pansy ass ‘family’ makes it out of this alive.”

And with that, Richard stalked off to join the others, leaving Stiles alone with the fox that had started it all. 

 

\--

Derek’s roar echoed across the alley behind Jungle. The pack stood back, cowering behind the battered steel dumpster he had been using as a punching bag for the past five minutes. 

The alpha hunched forward, his claws puncturing the edge of the dumpster as blood ran down his arms where they had been digging into the flesh of his palms. He didn’t care. He couldn’t even feel the physical pain through the mental torment screaming in his mind. 30 minutes. Stiles had been missing for half an hour. How could he not have noticed sooner?

 

He had waited for Stiles to return from the bathroom for a good fifteen minutes before going in after him. The scent of Stiles’ fear and blood had hit his nose as soon as he opened the door. The next ten minutes were a blur of barely contained rage and panic as he scoured the bathroom and club for the boy. The other wolves had sensed his distress and come to his aid, but there had been no trace of Stiles anywhere. They had no idea how he could have been taken from the club without any of them noticing. Erica had thought to check the alleyway by the hidden door and caught a scent of Stiles’ blood on the ground, next to a set of tire tracks. The tracks weren’t very helpful, but the lingering scent of gunpowder and oil was enough to send Derek into a new fit of rage: his target being the poor dumpster outside the club door. Those scents always meant hunters. Derek had let Stiles be taken right out from under his nose by hunters

 

Anger and hatred pulsed though Derek’s veins. Isaac shuffled forward, reaching out to comfort the alpha, but he flinched away. Derek knew he didn’t deserve comforting; he had left Stiles alone when he knew there were rogue hunters in town, and now he was missing, and it was Derek’s fault. He let out another howl of fury as he punched straight through the side of the dumpster.

The pack watched in horror as Derek pulled his fist back through the metal. The bones of his knuckles shone bright white through his shredded skin, blood streaming from the open wounds. He felt a firm hand finally grasp his shoulders, holding him still, grounding his anger, taking his pain. He turned to see Scott’s somber face watching him, eyes flicking between Derek’s tortured expression and battered hand. Scott’s face was painted with the same pained expression: disappointment in himself for failing to protect Stiles. 

“Derek, Scott,” Boyd’s calm voice drifted across the alley, breaking the two from their thoughts, “we’ll find him.” They both turned to face Boyd, comforted by the firmness of his resolve and the determination in his voice. Erica and Isaac flanked him, each looking volatile. Erica stepped forward, wrapping a hand firmly around Derek’s wrist.

“We have to find him. Now,” she stated. “No more freaking out. We need to get to work.” Derek looked up to meet Erica’s eyes, expecting disappointment, but all he saw was determination. Her soft brown eyes burned with the desire to find her friend, her pack mate. Derek nodded slowly, letting his anger simmer down to a more manageable level.

Scott pulled away and walked over to the tire tracks, stooping down to sniff at the treads. 

“The gas smell is pretty strong here, and the gunpowder is pretty specific. Think we can follow it by scent,” he asked over his shoulder. 

Derek knew the scent would be too faint once it was on a proper road, but he didn’t want to discourage Scott. He could tell the boy was struggling as much as he was.

“We can try,” he assured him. “We can also call his father, see if they can use the treads to identify a make and model.”

“That might not be entirely necessary,” Isaac’s voice chimed in. The pack turned to question him, but he was pointing up at the corner of the building where a security camera was aimed down the alley.

“I guess they’ve had a few security issues out here,” Erica pondered aloud. “Why don’t we go see what they caught tonight? I’m sure they’ll let us with a little convincing,” she added with a flex of her clawed hand. Derek frowned at her violent streak. They really didn’t need to make more enemies tonight. A thought suddenly struck him.

“We may not have to convince them at all,” he revealed. “I might have an in with a deputy who happens to be just inside. Why don’t we go see if Randy can give us a hand?”

Derek led the pack back into the club and picked out Randy’s scent immediately. The betas fanned out behind him as he approached the deputy where he lingered at the bar. He looked up in surprise at the odd group approaching him.

“Uh, Derek, why is there a pack of teenagers following you,” he asked gently. Derek’s bravado stuttered at the choice of words, suddenly wondering if the deputy knew more than he let on. He didn’t get a chance to respond before Scott stepped up and took over.

“We need your help,” he announced. “We need to see the footage from the security camera in the alley. And we need you to convince them to let us.” Parrish stared back, openly gaping at the boy’s nerve.

“Um, why?” was the best response he could construct. Derek pushed Scott to the side, drawing the deputy’s attention back to himself. 

“We think a mutual friend may have run off...” Derek’s words died on his lips. Derek was sure Randy hadn’t seen him disappear with Stiles and he desperately wanted to keep their relationship quiet, especially to Randy who already thought he was a pedophile, but they needed help. And telling him his boss’s kid was missing was a surefire way to get it. He looked up with pleading eyes, silently begging Randy not to hate him, before continuing. “We think Stiles was taken by someone. He went to the bathroom and never returned. We’ve looked everywhere for him; he’s not here. But we found blood out in the alley.” Parrish’s gaze sharpened on Derek’s face, scrutinizing his expression. 

“How do you know he didn’t just run off with someone?” His eyes stayed focused on Derek’s, daring him to tell the truth. Derek sighed. He knew Randy wasn’t stupid. He had probably already worked it all out. Why would Derek care if Stiles was missing, or even know who he was, if there wasn’t something between them? It was no use hiding, but he still cringed at the thought of revealing their relationship. It didn’t matter. They needed Parrish’s help. He took a deep breath and prepared himself for whatever punishment might come from his next statement.

“He was with me before he went to the bathroom. I was waiting for him to come back from the bathroom, but he never did. He was…he was going to come back,” Derek’s voice broke on the last word as his shoulders slumped forward, all sense of hope bleeding out of him. He wasn’t ashamed of what he and Stiles had done. He wasn’t ashamed to be claimed by someone so young. But he was nervous and anxious, and most of all scared the Stiles’ involvement with him was what had gotten him kidnapped. Derek should have known better. He should have known that anyone close to him got hurt. He had just hoped this time would be different. 

Parrish eyed him carefully, schooling his features into his official mask. 

“I think we’d better take a look at those cameras then. But I’m going to have to call the sheriff,” he added seriously. Derek didn’t care what happened to him. He would go to jail if it meant Stiles was found safe. He nodded sullenly at Parrish, glancing up briefly to meet his eyes. He didn’t look angry. That would have been easier to deal with. No. Parrish stared back with disappointment written all over his face. Derek deserved it. He was nothing if not a giant disappointment to everyone he knew. He turned to follow Parrish as he stepped away from the bar, buttoning his shirt and vest along the way.

“Thank you,” Derek whispered to the deputy's back. Parrish nodded once and headed for the manager’s office.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well how about that? I'm getting another chapter out in less than a week! I mean, barely, but still less than a week!
> 
> After a brief discussion with my very supportive beta, I've actually decided to split this chapter into two, so you'll probably get another update Saturday. Hooray!! Don't worry though, the two sections can absolutely stand on their own. 
> 
> Warning for this chapter: there is a rather gross/graphic scene, kind of gore related, so if that's not your thing, I'm sorry. I know I haven't had stuff like that in here before and I don't want that to turn you off, so I'll mark the beginning and end with asterisks so you'll know what to skip.

“Yes sir, that’s correct. The jeep is still in the parking lot, sir.” A pause followed as a static-y voice bled from the speaker. “White van. Make unclear, but looks like an old Transit, maybe. License plate 7-2-5-Victor-Charlie-Tango, but they look stolen, sir.” Parrish rattled the numbers into the phone, eyes glued to the monitor on the security desk. The pack was crammed into the manager’s small office, quietly discussing their plan of attack now that they had a slight lead to go off of. The manager hung back in the corner, sniffing angrily at the group of teenagers in the office.

 

Jungle’s manager had denied their initial request to check the tapes, claiming that the deputy’s badge was ‘obviously a fake’ and he ‘knew his rights’, before attempting to slam the door in their faces. But the sharp-eyed deputy had already spotted a monitor that showed a live feed from inside the women’s bathroom before the manager could close the door all the way. Derek had forced the door back open in an instant, giving Parrish plenty of room to stroll in and point to the incriminating monitor as he raised an accusing eyebrow at the manager, daring him to argue. The whole pack could smell the fear and guilt wafting from the man as he wrung his hands and sputtered for an answer. He had subsequently given them full access to the tapes after a forceful slap across the face from Erica. Parrish claimed he didn’t see it, but Isaac swore he saw the man smile as the manager shuffled out of the way, clutching his reddening face.

 

It turned out the security camera from the alley was perfectly aimed to catch the back corner of the kidnapper’s van. The pack watched bitterly as the tape replayed for the fifteenth time. A large man dragged Stiles out, holding him up around the waist, with Stiles’ arm draped across his shoulder so it almost looked like he was just drunk. The bag around his head told otherwise. Derek and Scott had nearly bolted from the room the first time through the tape when the man violently threw Stiles into the back of the van. The man had then climbed into the back of the van with Stiles’ unconscious body, but the angle prevented them from seeing why. All they could see was the van rocking gently from side to side for a few minutes before the man re-emerged, disheveled and breathing heavily, and entered the passenger side of the cab. Derek had practically clawed the screen apart out of pure, untamed rage. The man had kept his face hidden from the camera the entire time. Parrish determined that the whole situation was mostly likely premeditated, and much more serious than a spur of the moment kidnapping. The man had targeted Stiles specifically and had scouted the area earlier to be sure he would avoid the cameras.

 

Parrish turned to question Scott, his face once again settled into a mask of professionalism.

 

“You’re his best friend. Can you think of anyone he might have pissed off? Anyone who might have the resources to organize something like this?”

 

Scott winced as the Stiles in the looped video was tossed into the van again. He dragged his eyes back to Parrish’s consoling face.

 

“Stiles pisses off everyone he meets. According to him, it’s part of his charm,” he answered with a shrug. The real answer was apparent to everyone else in the room: the kidnappers were hunters. But they couldn’t very well tell the deputy that; even the sheriff was still out of the loop about werewolves and hunters, and he was much more directly involved.

 

Scott knew they would get Stiles back. They had to. But the lack of direct action was killing him. He knew, logically, that the police had a much better chance of finding the van than he did, but he couldn’t stand just waiting around, doing nothing. His best friend was missing. His brother was missing. He couldn’t let him get hurt. Not again. Not after everything they’d been through.

 

“It’s true,” Erica chimed in, breaking the awkward silence left by Scott’s internal panic, “Stiles is a hellion, he thrives on annoyance. But he’s never pushed anyone far enough to do this.” The rest nodded their agreement. They may not all have been as close to Stiles as Scott was, but they had all grown to accept him and care for him as pack. A look of shared misery and anxiety passed between them as Parrish turned back to the monitors. The deputy could tell there was a strangely deep connection between the group of teens and Derek. He could feel the electricity of their combined nerves pulsing through the room, jumping from one to the next as they simultaneously offered and craved comfort from one another.

 

“Alright,” he sighed, “I need a couple of you to stay here with me and wait for the sheriff. But the rest of you can head out. I have your statements for now; we can get official ones later. I want at least one of you to go to Stiles’ house in case he turns up, somehow.” The pack perked up at the obvious dismissal. They looked to Derek for further instruction. The alpha stared back, surprised that they actually wanted his direction.

 

“Scott,” Derek coughed out, clearing his throat, “why don’t you take Boyd and head to the house. Erica and Isaac can stay here. I’ll, uh…” He looked up at Parrish expectantly. He figured the deputy would want him to stay, to face the sheriff at last, but he needed to go. He needed to track the van and hopefully catch a break and find Stiles before anything else happened to him.

 

As he waited for a response, he noticed a tightness in his gut. His nerves had been flayed over the past hour, causing his stomach to roil and flip constantly, but this sensation was different. It was like a pull, almost magnetic, trying to drag him away from the office. He breathed in slowly and focused on the sensation, plucking at the imaginary thread with his mind. An image flashed before his eyes: Stiles trapped in a cage, bleeding, but whole; the boy looked up, eyes flashing amber as they connected with Derek’s, arm reaching out involuntarily. “Derek,” he called out breathlessly.

 

The air punched out of Derek’s lungs as the image faded. Realization slammed into him. The pull he felt was Stiles, his connection to Stiles. Derek blinked his eyes back into focus and scanned the room, his hand absently winding up his neck to touch the now imperceptible mark Stiles had left. This mark seemed to be stronger than any he’d heard of. A shiver ran through him at the thought of what it might mean.

 

No one seemed to notice his odd behavior. They continued to watch Parris hopefully as the tightness wound itself inside Derek’s heart. It surged forward, urging him to follow. Every instinct he had, wolf or not, urged him to follow it. He needed to follow it. If there was any chance that this connection to Stiles could help them find him, he needed to take it.

 

Parrish watched the emotions pass across Derek’s face closely. It was obvious to everyone that he was weighing the options in regards to Derek’s fate. Finally his posture loosened and he his eyes filled with resolve.

 

“You can head out too,” he decided firmly. “I’ll get your statement later. Just keep your phone on and don’t leave town. That goes for all of you.”

 

They each nodded before Derek turned to lead Boyd and Scott from the office. Erica and Isaac followed the others as they shuffled out of the room, assuring Parrish they would be right back. Once in the relative seclusion of the hallway, Erica turned to Derek and began whispering feverishly.

 

“No way in hell are we all just gonna sit around while you run off and get yourself killed,” she hissed. “If we have to stay here, fine. But you are not just gonna let them sit at Stiles’ house when we know full well that he’s not gonna show up on his own!” Derek waited patiently for her to finish before speaking.

 

“You done,” he asked smugly with a raise of his brow. Erica growled at him. “You know I’m not going to sit around doing nothing. I’m not sure why Parrish is letting me go, but I’m going with it. Scott, Boyd, and I will try to track the car by scent. Scott was right, there is a chance we can follow the smell of gunpowder instead of gasoline.” He could already tell that he would be able to track the pull in his gut easier than scent now that he realized what it was, but he was uneasy about revealing that connection to the pack. Scott and Boyd were the best scent trackers, so maybe they would be able to pick up the trail without him having to say anything about his ‘gut feeling’.

 

Erica glared back at him for a moment before flipping her hair back and nodding. Isaac wrapped a comforting hand around her wrist and gently pulled her back towards the office.

 

“You guys go. We don’t want to waste any more time. We’ll call if we find out anything useful,” Isaac assured them with a strained smile. He pushed the office door open and led Erica back in as the others set off.

 

As Derek followed Scott and Boyd back to the main club, a disembodied whisper seemed to track him down the long hallway.

 

“I know what you are, Derek,” the voice warned.

 

Derek paused and whipped around to check the hall. It was completely empty; even the office door was closed over. He shook his head, concerned that he had imagined it. But the voice had already settled into his mind, leaving him with a feeling of dread.

 

As he turned back around, he heard it again.

 

“I hope you find him first.”

 

A shiver ran through Derek’s body. He knew that voice. It was Parrish’s.

 

________

 

Stiles’ hand dropped back to his side, eyes blinking at the blank space before him.

 

He could have sworn he just saw Derek standing right there. The mere notion seemed insane, but Derek’s presence had felt so real. Without even thinking Stiles had reached out to him, but within a blink he was gone. Stiles’ heart sank in his chest. Maybe his head wound was worse than he thought if he was hallucinating Derek. He sighed and leaned back against the bars of the cage.

 

A jolt of electricity shot through him, tensing his already strained muscles. He bolted upright again, glaring at the door to the back office.

 

“Asshole,” he murmured. He knew it was Richard.

 

The cage was hooked up to a row of car batteries that could send a 35-volt charge through the metal, and could be switched on remotely. It was more than enough to kill a person, but it was only set off for a split second at a time, which he supposed was a good thing all things considered. They really didn’t seem that interested in killing him. And they had said he wasn’t their main problem, so maybe they really would let him go at the end of this. Maybe. He sighed again and stretched out across the cold concrete as comfortably as he could with his hands and feet still shackled.

 

The fox had remained in its corner since he had entered the cage, watching him closely as he tested the boundaries of their prison. It was surprisingly well crafted. He vaguely wondered whom they had brought out to assemble something so sturdy, and why that person hadn’t questioned the odd request. Not that it mattered now; whomever they had used knew what they were doing.

 

Stiles sighed and held his arms up in front of his face, studying the cuffs around his wrists closely. He let a squeak of relief as he recognized the style; they were the same model that his father carried, the same model that he happened to have a key for on his key ring. The fox sat up and watched him dubiously as he shuffled his hips, checking to see if his keys were still in his pocket.

 

“Jackpot. That’s why my motto is Be Prepared. Or, maybe that’s the Boy Scouts’ motto. Whatever.” He planted his feet on the ground and lifted his hips up, balancing his weight onto his shoulders as he wiggled side to side in an effort to force his keys out. But his wiggling was for naught; the keys were too far down in his pocket.

 

“Dammit,” he hissed as he settled his hips back onto the ground and tried to regroup. A rustling distracted him from his thoughts. Suddenly the fox was standing right next to his head, staring down at his face keenly.

 

“Woah,” he squeaked. “Warn a guy, dude.” The fox continued to stare expectantly, gaze shifting from Stiles’ face to his side.

 

Realization clicked.

 

“Dude, can you get my keys out of my pocket?” The fox whuffed excitedly and leapt over Stiles’ prone form, already digging at the denim. A small, clawed paw dug into his leg as the fox nosed its way into the depths of the pocket.

 

“Hey, careful down there,” he warned. The fox just flicked its tail at him in response. Somehow he knew it wasn’t meant as an apology. “Same to you, buddy.”

 

The fox stepped back and sat down triumphantly, keys hanging from its mouth.

 

“Excellent! Man, if I wasn’t sure you were human before, I am now,” he lauded. “Hand them over fluffy.” The fox gave him a surprisingly unimpressed look before trotting over and dropping the keys into his hands.

 

A moment later Stiles was rubbing the ache out of his wrists and reaching for his ankle shackles, key in hand.

 

“Thanks, bro. You can be surprisingly helpful when you want to be.” The fox glared back at him. “Alright, alright,” he conceded, “I’ll stop.”

 

The ankle shackles clanged to the ground as Stiles stood and stretched his sore muscles. Now that his hands were free, he was finally able to check the wound on the side of his head. His fingers prodded the area gently, but he found the skin was healed over already; only the blood in his hair and on his face was still sticky. He pulled his hand away in disgust and wiped the blood on his jeans, refusing to look until it felt clean.

 

He looked down at his watch, estimating that he had been taken less than an hour and a half prior. Part of him expected the pack to burst in at any moment to rescue him like the would-be damsel in distress he was turning into. The thought of Derek bursting in on a white horse and carrying him out princess style made him chuckle.

 

The fox looked up at him quizzically. 

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said offhandedly as he scanned the room for any sign of surveillance equipment. Surprisingly he found none.

 

He focused his hearing towards the back room where the hunters were hiding. There was a muffled hum, like a low frequency radio station, but it was barely audible. They must have soundproofed that room. Just how long had they been planning this? It seemed to be well thought out. At least he could talk without worrying about them listening in, not that he had anyone to talk to really. Slowly he turned his attention back to the fox.

 

“So, you gonna tell me who these guys are?”

 

The fox didn’t respond, it just stared at him and sniffed curiously. Suddenly it bounded forward and trotted behind him. It reared up on its hind legs and planted its paws firmly against his back. Stiles startled as he felt the fox nose at his back pocket, sniffing for a moment before letting out a quiet chirp. He reached back cautiously, trying to figure out what the fox wanted. His hand grazed against his tail as he reached for his pocket. Well, at least I know that’s still a thing, he thought. As his hand burrowed into the depths of the pocket, his fingers grazed against something smooth and plastic. Curling his fingers around the object, he pulled his hand back out, opening it to reveal the plastic bag from Deaton. He fell to his knees in shock. How could he have forgotten?

 

The fox jumped up excitedly, prancing in front of him, nosing at his hand repeatedly as he sat frozen, completely dumbfounded. This was the Lace Flower Deaton had given him. This was what could supposedly help the fox change back. He could finally get some real answers, and have a second set of hands to help them escape. Hope swelled within his chest and his pulse sped up to match the fox’s frantic heart.

 

He looked down at it excitedly.

 

“This is what you needed,” he said dumbly, shaking his head at his own awkwardness. “Sorry, you already knew that.” The fox watched him anxiously, nodding its head in an eerily human manner. Stiles stared between the Lace Flower and the fox, suddenly stricken with worry.

 

“I don’t know how much to give you. This could be lethal for all I know,” he admitted quietly. The fox paced forward and let one paw rest against Stiles’ leg. He could feel the fox’s thoughts bouncing inside his mind.

 

‘It’s okay. Just try a little at a time,’ it seemed to say. Stiles nodded slowly and poured a teaspoon worth of the dried herb into his palm. He offered his hand to the fox, assuming it would rather not eat off the floor (although, if it had been stuck for a long time, maybe it wouldn’t care).

 

In the end it didn’t matter. The fox simply ducked its head and lapped the herbs out of Stiles’ hand, coughing slightly as the dried pieces stuck in its throat. They waited patiently for a minute, Stiles’ eyes glued to the fox as it slowly moved each foot, its ears, its tail, checking to see if anything had changed. It looked back up at Stiles miserably after another minute of nothing.

 

“Maybe a little bit more? How do you feel?” The fox nodded at him, seemingly unharmed.

 

Stiles poured out another teaspoon worth and offered it forward. The fox swallowed it without effort this time and sat back, eyes closed, waiting, hoping. Stiles held his breath and waited with it.

 

Suddenly Stiles noticed a scuffle coming from the back office. The hunters were moving. The bag slipped from his startled hands, scattering dried Lace Flower all over the floor. He tried to sweep it up, but there was no time. He stashed the now mainly empty bag and his keys back in his pockets and rushed to set the shackles back around his legs and wrists. The fox scurried around the cage, trying to lick up all of the spilled herbs.

 

The hunters stepped out into the room just as Stiles clicked the handcuffs shut.

 

“How’s it going, little buddy,” Richard taunted as he passed the cage.

 

“Until your ugly mug showed up again, it was pretty much perfect,” Stiles sniped back. He smirked at the sound of Katie laughing with his rude remark.

 

“Shut it, Katie. Go check your shit,” Richard angrily spat over his shoulder as he kicked a side door open. Katie flipped him off as he went, mocking him as the doors swung closed.

 

“While I don’t appreciate his tone, I do need you to check the west perimeter,” Rey added softly, stepping out of the office and heading towards the cage with a bottle of water.

 

“I’m on it,” she responded cheerfully as she skipped to the front door.

 

“Little ray of sunshine, isn’t she,” Rey asked over his shoulder as he watched the woman frolic through the main entrance. It took Stiles a moment to realize the man was talking to him. “It’s hard to find a girl like that; one who can fight just as well as she fucks, if you’ll pardon my French.”

 

Something clicked in Stiles’ mind at Rey’s words. French. Why did that stick out to him? He thought back to something Scott had said the night after he was bitten. He had gone to Allison’s house, but they had unexpectedly had family visiting. More specifically, a cousin. Named Rey. His eyes snapped up as the pieces slotted into place.

 

“You’re an Argent,” he accused flatly. Rey’s head snapped around to stare at him, a slight smirk lifting the unburned corner of his mouth.

 

“Finally pieced that together, did you?” He bowed forward with a flourish before raising back up, one hand clutching the water bottle, the other extended to the side. “Pleasure to meet you, Stiles. I am Reynard Argent.”

 

Stiles gaped at him. He couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t realized it sooner. The Argents were the only hunters in town; any hunters coming through would have to come through them. Any hunter coming through would have to be vetted by them. Yet, they had let this motley crew waltz right in and start a war. Because they were family. Of course they would trust family to hold the truce. Of course they would expect them to behave. Since that had worked so well in the past, Stiles thought bitterly.

 

Stiles’ mind boiled with anger and indignation, but his body tensed with fear as a chilling thought struck him. The Argents were the best of the best. Not even Derek or Scott had escaped their clutches on his own. He was going to have to wait for backup.

 

Another hum of electricity pulsed through the cage. Richard must have kept the control with him on his rounds. What a dick, Stiles thought.

 

“I thought Argents hunted werewolves,” he asked, stalling for time by fishing for information. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled you’re not here to kill my friends, although you did threaten them earlier, but why are you hunting a fox? It hardly seems dangerous.”

 

He turned to look at the fox for emphasis. It was lying on its side, barely moving, breath wheezing in and out of its tiny lungs. Shit, Stiles thought. Did I actually kill it? His pulse jumped as guilt flooded his body. He turned his attention back to Rey before he could freak out more.

 

“You would be surprised how much damage a single fox can do,” Rey whispered. His smooth voice turned to bitter acid as he continued. “They’re tricky little beasts. They like to toy with people, force them to hurt others on their behalf. They get into your head, ruin you from the inside out.” He wrung his hands around the water bottle absently, like he would love nothing more than to destroy the fox lying next to Stiles.

 

Rey seemed to think the fox was some great, evil manipulator, but it didn’t make any sense. The fox actually could get in Stiles’ head, but it had never compelled him to do anything. It had just asked for help. Which, under the circumstances, was a more than reasonable request. He watched Rey cautiously as the man visibly calmed himself before continuing.

 

“Anyway, I find it extremely fitting that I should hunt foxes instead of wolves, seeing as my name is Reynard.” His voice had returned to its normal calming tone, but he still wasn’t making sense.

 

“Reynard is French, right,” Stiles asked. Rey nodded, eyes lighting up to see Stiles playing along. “So what does it mean?”

 

He had an idea, but he could tell Rey wanted to drag out the big reveal. The man passed the bottle through the bars of the cage, a smile on his lips as he answered.

 

“Reynard means Fox.”

 

Stiles scuttled forward on his butt to accept the water, his mind racing to patch everything together. Reynard Argent. Fox Argent. Fox Silver. Silver Fox. The thought slammed into him. The image of the arrowhead danced through his mind. It had been so obvious, practically spelled out for them, and they still hadn’t realized.

 

“Cute,” Stiles replied bitterly. Rey chuckled.

 

“I thought so. In any case, we might be in for a long night, so you might want to ration that water. If you have to use the bathroom, well…pick a corner.” With that final thought, he returned to the back office, letting the door slam behind him as he entered.

 

Stiles quickly turned back to the fox, which had curled in on itself and was now squirming in pain.

 

“Shit,” he hissed as he struggled to get the cuffs off again. The fox continued to squirm, its eyes blinking in and out of focus as it struggled to stay silent. Stiles fumbled his keys, trying desperately to get the cuffs off. Not that he knew what to do once his hands were free, but he would figure that out when the time came. He managed to get the handcuffs off quickly, but the ankle cuffs were difficult. He hunched over his knees, hands clumsily searching the cuffs for the lock.

 

**  
Suddenly there was a ripping sound from his right, followed by a disturbing squelch. He knew he shouldn’t look, he knew whatever was happening was going to be more horrific than he could handle, but his curiosity got the better of him. He looked back at the fox, but the bleeding, writhing mass of flesh and organs next to him no longer bore any resemblance to any creature. Terrified that he had somehow exploded the fox, he leaned forward, but the smell sent him flying backward. The hot, wet blood and muscle tissue smelled vile in his over tuned nose. He had a morbid desire to poke the seeping red heap.

 

Slowly the pile began to tremble. He gagged as ropes of muscles shot out of the bloody mess, lashing themselves together around the bones that were sprouting from the center of the viscous sludge with a sickening crunch. Skin sprouted around the muscles as they writhed and stretched into limbs. A head finally burst out of the tissue, skin growing over it quickly, followed by thick, dark hair. Long dark hair. Really long dark hair.

 

Stiles looked away, trying to block out the crunching sounds of bones knitting together and the squelch of flesh materializing. He had not expected this. He could never have expected this. He had turned back into a human in his sleep. There was no way all of this had happened in his sleep. It looked like torture.

 

He fought to keep the bile in throat from rising any further, sucking in deep, slow breaths, hoping to god he wasn’t going to faint. But the spots starting cover his vision weren’t very optimistic. He breathed and counted and tried to shut out the sounds of dripping blood and squishing organs, but he could tell he was on the verge of losing it.  
**

 

The noises stopped as suddenly as they started. Stiles froze, eyes drilling into the floor ahead of him as the spots began to clear. A slow, shaky inhale broke the silence. He listened closely to the steady pulse beating next to him and took a deep breath. There was a new scent now; layered on top of the burnt one he had come to associate with the fox. It was hard to place – almost floral, but fruity at the same time. Orange blossom? Why did even know what orange blossom smelled like? He gathered his thoughts and braced himself for...what, he didn’t know. 

Slowly he turned to face the fox. But instead of a fox lying on the floor, there was a young, naked, woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really interested to hear some theories about where you think this might be going. I know where I'm taking it and I know where I've laid some tracks, but I'm interested to see where you think it's heading. Just for shits and giggles. If you have a minute, let me know. Thanks!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit short, but there's a lot of information, so I didn't want to overload you. Hope you all enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> Also there will be a bit more new character introduction. Don't worry, everything will be explained within the next couple chapters.

“The sheriff said the van was seen on a traffic cam on the edge of town about 30 minutes ago, heading towards Sacramento,” Erica’s voice reported through the Bluetooth speaker. “They’re sending cruisers out there now, but you guys are probably already close, right?”

Derek scoured his recent memory for any traffic cameras they might have passed. He was positive they hadn’t seen any, but he knew they were on the right path. He could feel it, quite literally, in his gut.

The wolves had left the club in a hurry, each taking a moment to fully ingrain the scent in their noses before speeding off to hunt down the kidnappers. Surprisingly, the scent was distinct enough to pick out among the layers upon layers of gasoline covering the road. They took turns, one person following the scent trail on foot while the others followed in the Camaro. Derek would only let them run for a couple miles at a time, trying to preserve their senses and their energy for when they found the hunters. 

“You mean that one,” Scott asked, pointing at a post on the side of the intersection they were currently speeding through. Derek felt like howling in relief. 

“I take it you found the camera and are still on the right path,” Erica asked. 

“Absolutely,” Scott replied cheerfully, finally allowing himself the smallest glimmer of hope.

The Bluetooth hissed and rattled for a moment before a new voice appeared on the line.

“What the hell were you thinking McCall? Why wouldn’t you tell us that Stiles was kidnapped? We were right there! We could be out there helping you look right now,” Lydia’s hysterical voice scolded. “Jackson has a Porsche! Do you know how fast that car is? He could’ve chased down that van in seconds!” Derek bristled at Lydia’s condescending tone.

“We’re in a Camaro,” he growled back. “I think we’ve got the speed we need. It’s the scent we need to follow and Jackson can’t track to save his life.” Derek shouldn’t have been so pleased with the smug laugh he got from Scott for the slight against Jackson’s abilities. Lydia scoffed into the receiver. 

“You’re rude. I don’t want to talk to you anymore. We’ll be waiting at Stiles’ house, like they told YOU to do. Call us when you find him.” The line went quiet for a moment as the phone passed hands again.

“I have to admit, I’m impressed that she seems worried,” Isaac’s voice resonated through the Camaro’s speakers. “She saw the sheriff come in and immediately forced her way into the conversation. Even Jackson looked slightly upset, although that may have been because she dragged him along too. So how’s it going out there”

Derek forced a noise of acknowledgment as he floored the gas pedal, trying desperately not to lose Boyd in the dark shadows as the Camaro peeled around the corner. 

“Good, I guess,” Scott responded, concerned eyes darting between Derek’s face and the speedometer. 

Boyd came to a crossroads and stopped suddenly, panting slightly from strain. He had been sprinting flat out for nearly two miles. The Camaro screeched to a stop behind him. Derek threw the car into park, the engine idling quietly as he stepped out to check on Boyd. Boyd raised his head, taking a deep breath in every direction. 

“Crap, did we lose it,” Scott called out, but Boyd simply waved him off and took another deep breath, a look of panic crossing his face as the scent died out. 

Derek opened his senses, searching for a hint. His hearing was distracted by the voices in the car as Scott reported what was happening back to the others, and the scent had all but faded away. 

But he could still feel the pull in his chest. It had gotten stronger the further away from the club they got. He desperately hoped it meant they were headed in the right direction instead of the opposite. The tension in his gut twisted and writhed, practically pushing him down the road to the left. If the connection was this aggressive, they had to be getting close. And he could lead them. 

“I’ll take over,” he said firmly, directing Boyd to take over the driving. He set off at a steady jog until he heard the engine rev and felt the Camaro fall in behind him. He sucked in a lungful of cool air and sprinted in the direction the tension was pulling him. As he feet pounded into the pavement, he swore he could smell a faint trace of honeysuckle. He surged forward, vigor renewed as his head filled with the scent of Stiles. 

___

 

Back in the cage, Stiles was blushing and trying to look anywhere other than at the naked woman next to him. For some reason he simply hadn’t ever pictured the fox as female. It had definitely thrown him for a loop. He didn’t know how to act. It was clear that she probably needed help, but she was naked and Stiles didn’t want to cross any boundaries. Eventually his curiosity won over his bashfulness and he turned to examine the woman. 

She was young, practically a teenager by the looks of it. Her skin was a dark clay color, equal parts tan and red. Her thick black hair fell in a nest around her head, but would easily hang past her hips when standing. She looked to be between Lydia and Erica’s heights, but with more weight on her slight frame. Actually Stiles would put her comfortably inside the realm of chubby. Her face was full with thick dark lips and bushy eyebrows. But it was also angular and sharp, with high, prominent cheekbones and the straightest nose Stiles had ever seen. 

Slowly her eyes blinked open, revealing a deep almost ebony color though thick black lashes. Her eyes darted around the cage curiously for a moment, eventually landing on Stiles’ blushing face. As soon as she locked eyes with him, he snapped back to reality.

“How do you feel,” he asked quietly, trying to keep his eyes on just her face.

She sat up slowly, stretching her arms in front of her, smiling at her human hands as she ran them down her human legs. A gargling sound came from her throat when she tried to answer. Stiles finally remembered the water, unscrewed the cap, and offered it to her. She grabbed it gently and smiled gratefully. Her smile was electric, lighting up her rather grave face, as she chugged the water down happily. 

“Ah,” she gasped, letting water dribble down her chin. “This is amazing.” Her voice was deep and smoky, and there was an odd cadence to her words, as if English was not her first language. Maybe she just hadn’t spoken in a long time. 

“So you feel ok? Cause I gotta admit, that little show you just put on did not sound pleasant,” Stiles admitted. She laughed at the discomfort in his voice.

“Oh it wasn’t. It was excruciating. But it was worth it. I have thumbs again.” She smiled down at her hands, wiggling her fingers before offering Stiles a thumbs up. He had to laugh at her nonchalance.

“Well I guess you are a lot stronger than me. I would have been screaming the whole time. Is every transformation like that? I don’t remember mine being so…violent.”

“To be honest, I think my vocal cords came in last,” she whispered, reveling in the control she now had over her voice. “And no, no transformation should be like that. I think that was just because I was breaking a curse. No guts, no glory and all that. I’ll have to ask Silver Fox.”

Stiles startled at the name, his head snapping up to look at her incredulously. 

“Are you kidding me? You’re gonna ask that nutjob in there, the one who wants you dead? The one who put you in a freaking cage? This cage!”

The girl stared back at him like he was the one speaking nonsense. 

“Silver Fox is my grandmother. She’s the one they want to kill,” she clarified. 

The new information didn’t fit with Stiles’ theories. His brain had dealt with too much in the last few hours to add anything new and two Silver Foxes was just too much.

“Why would Rey want to kill an old lady,” he asked, frustrated. The girl waved him off as she took another sip of water.

“He’s a nobody. He talks big, but he’s just a soldier. Just a lost, scared little boy,” her voice trailed off for a moment and Stiles swore that for a split second he saw compassion in her eyes. She shook herself before continuing, voice low and nervous. “He’s not nearly as scary as the leader. He is heartless and poisonous. Their leader has destroyed entire communities without even showing his face. And we don’t even know his name. We just call him kan’-u-ma.” Stiles’ entire body jolted awake. 

“Did you just say kanima? Jesus Christ, we just got rid of one of those,” Stiles whined. The girl eyed him skeptically, shaking her head, gravely serious.

“There is only one kan’-u-ma. He has been tormenting my grandmother and me for months. He leads these men, manipulates them into doing his will so that he can never be held accountable” she said cryptically. 

Stiles’ head started to pound again. Kan’-u-ma? Was it really something different than a kanima? It sounded just as evil. Information rattled through Stiles’ mind, ideas pinging off of one another, crashing through boundaries he had set up, destroying rules he had thought were set in stone. Who was this shadowy leader? And could hunters get anymore clichéd? The only other hunters he knew were the Argents, and as little as he trusted them, he didn’t think they would ever do something like this. They would turn into a kan-u-ma. At least not the ones still around. His head throbbed with unknown possibilities.

“Ok, yep, too much at once. I’m still trying to get over the fact that there is a naked girl sitting next to me. So lets take care of that first,” he decided as he shed his outermost shirt and handed it to her. 

The girl shuffled into the shirt self-consciously, eyes darting back to Stiles’ face constantly as she buttoned it back up. 

“Hey it’s not that I don’t enjoy naked ladies as much as the next guy, but now’s not really the time, is it?” She shrugged back at him, noncommittally. 

Stiles then stood and began fumbling with his belt. Her eyes widened in shock. 

“The pants might be a little long, but at least you won’t be naked,” he said as his jeans dropped to the ground. As he took his time removing the leg cuffs and stepping out of his pants, he noticed the girl’s eyes openly roving over his body. 

“Hey, this isn’t a free show. I have some pride, you know.” She looked away guiltily. 

“Sorry,” she apologized, “it’s just, I can see why he likes you. You seem much older than you are.”

Stiles stared back her, disbelief coloring his features as he held the pants out to her.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He spun around abruptly as she stood to put the pants on.

“Well, you look older than 16. You’re more developed than most 16 year olds. And you’re smart. And protective. You have an old soul. And you’re snarky. He probably loves you for all of that,” she said matter-of-factly. Stiles choked on his own spit.

“What is this about love now? Shit we’re barely even together. I mean we’re not together. It was just that one time…and then that other time…” his voice trailed off as his argument started to fall flat. He turned back around at the sound of the zipper being pulled up. The girl was a few inches shorter than him, so the pants dragged a bit as he suspected they would, but she made it work. 

“Stiles, I saw you in the woods that day. I know what happened. Hell, I could smell what happened. And you both had the marks. They hadn’t faded yet. Normal marks still fade quickly for our kind, but yours hadn’t. Only true marks will stay like that for so long.” 

Stiles had no response. His mind was starting to shut down completely at the onslaught of information he was receiving. He couldn’t process any of it right now.

“Well, you know my name, so what’s yours,” he asked, changing the subject entirely. 

“Nice diversion,” she said sarcastically before extending her hand in greeting. “My name is Kaliska. You can call me Lis. It’s nice to finally meet you face-to-face. Well, human face-to-face.” Stiles grasped her hand, surprised at the strength in her grip and the softness of her skin. The mundane act of shaking hands seemed so bizarre to Stiles in that moment. This girl had been a fox for who knows how long, had just literally ripped her way out of her own body, and was now standing before him perfectly adjusted and healthy. Meanwhile, his mind was still reeling too fast to lock down any single question to clarify all of the new data he had just received. Nothing made sense anymore. 

“How long were you stuck like that,” his mouth decided to ask without his brain’s consent. The girl laughed at the surprise on Stiles face. 

“I kind of lost count at some point, but I think it was around a year. We’ve been running so long I just stopped paying attention to dates and time,” she said easily. Stiles’ mind fired through more questions faster than he could recognize them. He just hoped his mouth was keeping up. 

“Wait, who’s we? What are you running from? You’ve been running for a year,” Stiles fired off rapidly. 

Lis held a hand up, cutting him off abruptly. The hum of electricity was back, pulsing through the metal cage, which meant the hunters would return before long. 

“I know you want answers, and I will be glad to give you the full story,” she assured him, “but I think we need to focus on getting out of here first. I have a feeling they’re going to notice pretty quickly that I am no longer an animal, and that could have very bad consequences for me. But to answer those questions, yes, my grandmother and I have been running from hunters for over a year.”

Lis’ head snapped around to face the wall, fear shining in her dark eyes. 

“Did you hear that?” 

Stiles matched her positioning, aiming his ear towards the wall about ten feet away, and focused his hearing. There was a shrill scratching sound on the other side of the wall, like nails clawing at the bricks. Stiles’ first thought was rats. But he hadn’t heard any before, so why would they appear now when the hunters were prowling around outside? The scratching stopped and was replaced by an almost imperceptible electronic beeping. 

Recognition rushed through Stiles’ mind just as the click of a detonator sounded. A super sonic boom pulsed through the air, almost knocking him backwards. He threw himself over Lis as the wall exploded inward with an ear splitting crack, sending chunks of brick and debris flying everywhere. 

Stiles could feel tiny lacerations all over his bare legs and face from the debris that managed to slip through the bars of their cage. But Lis seemed unharmed, if a little shaken from the noise. 

Rey came darting into the room, gun drawn, eyes wild with anger and fear. He froze, gaze taking in the now human girl in the cage under Stiles’ half naked body. Recognition flashed through his features, followed quickly by pain, but it was immediately replaced with a mask of fury directed at the hole in the wall. Stiles looked up, following Rey’s sightline to the target of his anger. 

As the dust settled, a figured emerged. Standing in the middle of the broken wall, surrounded by debris, stood the most badass woman Stiles had ever seen. It had to be Kaliska’s grandmother, but the woman hardly seemed old enough to be a grandmother. Her face was etched with determination, her expression pure wrath. She wore a black combat vest, lined with knives, magazines, and even a few grenades. Her bare arms were covered in intricate tattoos like black vines wrapping themselves around her, protecting her. Her jet black hair was pulled back in a long braid that fell to her waist and looked vaguely like a whip. She smiled viciously at Rey as she leveled a gun right back at him. 

“I would say it’s nice to see you, Rey, but we both know that would be a lie,” the woman said, her husky voice sounding oddly sensual. “I would have thought you learned your lesson the last time you crossed me, boy. You, of all people, should know what happens when you play with fire.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she opened fire on the hunter.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a warning: a little bit of semi-graphic violence in this chapter. And some panic attack stuff, so if that's a trigger, you may want to skip this one. 
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy!

The woman launched herself into the room, tracking Rey’s every move, firing relentlessly, keeping him from gathering his wits. The hunter fired back blindly as he ran through the shadows, desperately searching for cover. The shots reverberated through the air accompanied only by the hail of shell casings clattering to the ground.

Stiles tried to follow the fighting, but the noise was incapacitating. Kaliska’s grandmother and Reynard were locked in an epic shootout, chasing each other through the darkened room, dodging bullets left and right, flashes of muzzle fire the only source of light. Each shot that screeched through the space seemed to rip through Stiles’ eardrums until he was huddled against the floor, hands clawing at the sides of his head, hopelessly trying to stop the pain. His father had only ever let him go to the gun range once and Stiles had thought it was too loud then, even with the ear protection on. But in an empty concrete room where the shots echoed through the air like screaming bottle rockets, with supernatural hearing that couldn’t be turned off, it was pure torture.

Suddenly Rey dove out of the shadows, rolling forward until his back was against the cage as a stream of bullets tore through the ground in front of him. A stray shot ricocheted off of the floor, bouncing up to ring against the bars of their cage. Shock immobilized Stiles as the bullet embedded itself into the wall mere inches above his and Kaliska’s heads.

It felt like time had slowed to nothing as the ringing resonated through Stiles’ body. His heart pounded in his chest as if it was trying to escape his ribcage and run from the hellish situation he was in. His body began shiver violently as a venomous lead weight started to unravel in his gut, icy fingers of panic creeping through him.

Two hands gripped at his shoulders, abruptly pulling him backwards, dragging his frozen body across the rough floor away from the hunter. He felt Kaliska curl herself around him, shielding him from the gunfire, her warm heat comforting him and bringing his limbs back to life. She pulled his hands away from his face and held them tightly in her own; her calm dark eyes boring into his until they both burned bright amber. A strange feeling of calm draped over him as her eyes shown brightly at him. He could feel his body strengthening from her touch. 

“Stiles, we’re okay. Please don’t freak out on me yet,” she pleaded. Her smoky voice wound itself around his exhausted nerves, soothing his panic. “We need to be ready to fight back. We need to help her. We can save ourselves now. Understand?” He felt his panic curling back up until it settled back into a heavy weight in his stomach. He nodded once, bravely, swallowing down the fear that was still threatening to escape him.

With his own panic subsiding, he finally noticed the anxiety radiating from where Reynard lay huddled against the bars of their cage. It dawned on him that this was the first real turn since the fight started; he and the woman were surprisingly well matched and neither had grasped the upper hand yet. Neither had even managed to land a single shot, though judging by the holes in Rey’s clothes, a few had at least grazed him. 

But now, Reynard was officially cornered. As in back against the wall, down to his last ‘Hail Mary’, cornered. The woman emerged like a specter from the shadows. Her dark skin shined with sweat, but her demeanor showed no signs of weakness. She stalked forward slowly, as if treasuring the moment, gun aimed directly at Rey’s head.

“You will never harm her again,” the woman warned, voice deadly. The hunter lifted his chin to face her, eyes steely as he pushed himself up into a more dignified position. He raised his arms in surrender, his gun still loosely clutched in one hand.

“I didn’t think short range weapons were your forte, Taipa,” he said casually, trying to hide the fear in his voice. “In fact, from my recollection, you favored…fierier methods.” A sneer flickered across his lips, making the scarred side of his face twitch eerily. The woman didn’t react. Her eyes simply locked onto Reynard’s twisted face.

“I used what I needed to. Your master wouldn’t show himself, always hiding in the shadows, pulling your strings from afar. I simply…shed a little light on the situation,” the woman responded with a wicked grin. Rey stiffened at the insinuation, but shrunk back as the woman coldly laughed at him.

Stiles knew there was some missing puzzle piece to this story. Where Kaliska’ hands still clutched his he could feel pain surging through her body at her grandmother’s words. But it didn’t feel like normal pain. It felt like an immense emotional pain rather than anything physical. He slowly released one of her hands and gently gripped her shoulder, scooting himself closer until he could wrap his arm around her, his chin resting perfectly on the top of her head. 

A warm sensation rippled through him. Suddenly, without any conscious effort, he felt his hands leeching the heavy waves of pain from the girl in his arms. It was an odd sensation, being able to sense the intense pain, but not actually feeling it as his own. It wasn’t his pain to feel, and yet somehow he could tell it was there. Kaliska breathed a heavy sigh against Stiles’ chest, her body relaxing into his touch ever so slightly. His eyes returned to the standoff happening just a few feet ahead of them.

He vaguely wondered where Richard and Katie had gone. The gunfire had to have been heard outside the building, why weren’t they coming to their leader’s rescue? It was a blessing that they weren’t there at the moment since it evened the fight out enormously, but their absence was conspicuous to say the least. 

“I am not a killer like you,” the woman, Taipa, announced firmly. Stiles watched Reynard stare up at her, his expression a mixture of disbelief and anger. “I did not come here to harm you, and if you don’t force my hand, I don’t intend to. I came for my granddaughter. And the boy.” 

Stiles perked up at that. He had assumed Taipa had come for Kaliska, it made sense, but he hadn’t expected to also be a part of her plan. What did she owe him? She didn’t even know him. 

“I am tired of running. I am tired of this war you have been waging against us for so long. Your motives are unfounded, as they were when we started. We have done nothing but protect ourselves from you. And even that, we only did after you proved we would need to. We just want peace between us.” There was a solemnity to her voice that told far more than her words could. There was some serious history between her family and these hunters. 

Kaliska startled in Stiles’ arms as Rey barked out a laugh. 

“Unfounded, huh? Your granddaughter was an animal ten minutes ago. She’s an abomination,” he spat out, practically frothing with ire. Stiles felt a new wave of sadness seep out of Kaliska, turning his veins icy once again. “The whole lot of you needed to be put down. It was the humane thing to do. Only you decided to attack first, like the wild animal you are. Blinding us with fire and running for the hills like cowards. Pathetic. I’ve been waiting for this day for years.”

Stiles barely had time to realize what was happening before Reynard turned his gun on the woman and fired. 

Kaliska’s grandmother fell to the ground in a lifeless heap. 

Reynard jumped to his feet, spinning around to face the two prisoners, a wild look of victory flashing in his eyes. He slowly aimed his gun at the girl, a sad smile playing at his lips. Stiles clutched her tighter, wrapping his legs around her body, trying to shield her as much as he could. He knew it would do nothing to stop a bullet, but it felt better than doing nothing. She had tried to protect him; it only felt right to return the favor.

“Come now Stiles, don’t be like that,” his saccharine voice called out. "Face death like a man. I’m sure your father would be proud to know that his son stared death in the eye and laughed, instead of cowering on the floor like an infant.”

Angry bile burned in his throat. How dare this monster speak about his father as if he knew him? As if the sheriff was as twisted and ruthless as a hunter. Though, as much as Stiles hated to admit it, Rey was right. He couldn’t go down like that. He had to at least try to fight. 

Maybe he could talk his way out of it; stranger things had happened. He looked over at the still body of Kaliska’s grandmother and felt a shiver of dread skitter down his spine. This was a terrible idea. 

He pulled away from Kaliska and clambered to his feet, pulse thundering in his ears. He stepped in front of her body, shielding her from view, and stretched his arms out dramatically. A part of Rey seemed impressed that Stiles was cheeky enough to show off his lack of shackles. That sliver of admiration gave him the bravado to try something else. Something ridiculously stupid. 

“You know, I always thought there was some code among hunters,” Stiles began casually, keeping his tone light. Rey’s gun drooped slightly as he listened. Good. That was what Stiles needed; he needed Rey to get sloppy. 

“Yeah,” he continued, shifting his weight from side to side, “I’m sure I’ve heard that. So how are you going to stand there and threaten me when you promised less than an hour ago that I could go free if I played along?” Reynard’s face twisted in disgust.

“Codes only apply to humans. Which you are most definitely not.” The gun climbed back up, leveling off at his chest. Stiles began to regret saying anything. Why did he think there was a way to reason with hunters? And why did think asking to be let go was the best thing to start with?

“Well, I still feel pretty human. Minus the tail and all.” The offending appendage swished lazily behind him, tickling the backs of his bare legs. “But back to the point, you consider yourself to be a good hunter, right,” he asked, with a flourish, changing the course of conversation, stalling for…something. He wasn’t sure what. “That’s what this whole show was about. Proving you’re the best. Right?”

Rey stared back at him, unresponsive, but the gun drifted lower again. 

“Ok, we’ll just assume that you do. So what is so challenging about shooting two kids in a cage? Where’s your sense of sportsmanship? Where’s the adventure? How can you brag to your hunting buddies about that? It’s as bad as shooting fish in a barrel; any idiot can do that.” Rey tensed further, bristling at the jab at his skills. Good, Stiles thought, keep needling him.

“So how about we make this more interesting for you? It sounds like you’ve been waiting for this for a while. It just seems anticlimactic to end it like this,” he finished with a gesture to the cage. Rey’s eyes scanned the cage, his expression thoughtful. Stiles felt a glimmer of hope that his plan just might work after all. 

“I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work. I have you both right where I need you. I’m not in this game for sport. I’m in it to protect people, real people, from the likes of your kind. I wouldn’t think twice about killing you in your sleep,” Rey’s smooth voice cut like steel as he raised the gun back up.

The hope drained out of Stiles. He had really thought his slapdash plan was starting to work. But he had highly underestimated the coldness in the hunter’s heart. He glanced around the cage, desperately searching for something to stall the man, or at least help himself out. 

“I would say I’m sorry,” Rey’s voice lilted, “but I’m really not.” He lined his sight up, aiming straight for Stiles’ head.

Stiles closed his eyes and focused on the sound of blood flowing through his body. If he was about to die, he wanted the last thing he heard to be the life coursing through his veins. He sucked in a breath and held it, waiting for the telltale sound of a trigger being pulled. His mind reeled through trains of thought at light speed, trying to tie up every final thought he could. He wished the pack were there. Not even to save him, just to comfort him as his life slipped away. He felt like he could almost taste the pack’s scents on his tongue as he waited for his death. Even if it was all in his head, it was surprisingly comforting. He focused on the individual scents, wishing them each a fond farewell, mentally telling them he didn’t blame them for any of this and that he wouldn’t change his life with them for anything in the world. He had finally found his family; he just wished he had had more time with them.

His thoughts wandered to his first family: his father, Melissa, Scott, his best friend, his brother. Guilt ate at him at the thought of leaving them. Scott would have to take care of his dad from now on, but Stiles knew he was good for it. Hopefully Allison would take him back; he was going to need all the support he could get. He imagined Scott wrapping his arms around him for one last hug, the kind they didn’t share so much anymore, the kind they had shared too often when their worlds came crashing down so many years ago. 

Finally he thought of Derek, pictured him rushing forward and pulling Stiles into a ferocious kiss, arms boxing him in, pulling him as close as possible, even closer, clinging to him like he held the secrets of the universe in his touch. It was a comforting idea, being held and treasured one last time.

His thoughts were broken by a strangled scream. 

His eyes flew open, taking just enough time to register the blade sticking out of Reynard’s hand and the blood pouring from the wound (causing a sickening lurch in his stomach) before he heard the crack of gunfire and felt a sharp twinge in his leg. 

A rush of cold air swept through him, shutting off his emotions, his sense of pain, his sense of time. He absently glanced down at the dark circle that had appeared above his knee. It looked suspiciously like a hole. Which was weird. Right? He didn’t remember having a hole in his leg before. Dark red liquid started to stream out of it, running down the pale canvas of his leg in deep scarlet rivulets. It was almost pretty. He numbly realized that he had been shot; the hole was the wound, the scarlet rivers his blood. But it didn’t sink in immediately. Not until his senses caught back up.

A burst of immeasurable pain tore through his leg. It felt like he was on fire. Every nerve ending screamed at him as more blood oozed from the wound. Sharp spikes of electricity shot up his leg as it twitched feebly, trying valiantly to continue holding his weight. But it gave quickly, collapsing him to the floor with a jolt. The wound revolted excruciatingly. It felt like the bullet was searing into his flesh. The tightly wrapped ball of panic that had settled earlier burst open, shooting tendrils of icy dread and hysteria coursing through him. 

Outside the cage, the woman stood up gracefully, clutching a second knife in one hand and her gun in the other. She took quick stock of Stiles huddled on the floor in pain, blood pouring from his leg, before checking the blood running down her arm where Rey’s bullet had pierced her. 

Her quick reflexes had saved her from taking the shot directly, but she had known she would need time to regroup; playing dead was the easiest way to distract the hunter. A small, disbelieving laugh echoed through the room as she turned back to the man, raising her gun. Reynard gaped back at her, clutching at the wrist of his impaled hand, trying to stop the bleeding as much as he could without pulling the knife out. His frantic eyes darting down to his own weapon where it had fallen, just out of reach. 

“How,” he asked frantically, wide eyes snapping back to the woman’s face, “How do you escape death so easily?” She smiled back at him, but her eyes remained serious.

“Nothing comes easily,” her raspy voice recited, as if it was a mantra she had read for years. “I do not escape death; I bypass it. She will come for me as well, some day. When she is ready. But until that day, I use what she teaches me. I learn from her soft caress, our brief encounters. She knows that I respect and honor her and so she allows me to live.” She paused for a moment, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath through her nose. Her eyes flicked open, shining bright with determination. 

“I do not fear Death, Reynard. Do you?” 

Rey watched her closely, taking in the sincerity of her words, the resolve in the set of her shoulders. Fear flickered through his eyes at the realization that she would not hesitate to kill him. 

A single shot rang through the room.

 

Stiles thought he could hear screaming over the pounding of his own heart in his ears, but he couldn’t be sure whose it was. He gasped for breath, gulping down what felt like lungs full of air, but his body received nothing from it. The panic clawed through him, clutching around his throat like a crushing weight settling over his body, trying to drag him straight through the concrete floor. Black haze started to edge his vision, casting the room into a warped shadow. Every muscle in his body clenched as if it were single-handedly trying to pull him back to reality, but none would ever succeed. Agonizing pain stabbed at his chest and lungs as he whimpered against the floor, tears streaming from his eyes, whether from the pain or the panic, he wasn’t sure.

Kaliska jumped into action before Stiles could shut down further. She didn’t know what was happening, but she had been shot enough times to recognize that this was not a normal reaction. Stiles wasn’t getting enough air, even though he was heaving in breaths faster than she could follow. Her fear quickly turned to terror as Stiles’ hand grasped desperately at nothing and his ragged breaths turned to choking. She tore the sleeve from the shirt Stiles had given her and quickly wrapped it around the open wound in his leg. It wasn’t a perfect tourniquet, but it would do, his healing should kick in soon enough. She pulled the knot tighter and winced as Stiles cried out in pain. It was barely audible due to his lack of air, but it cut at her nonetheless. 

Realization finally struck her. There was nothing physically preventing Stiles from breathing, it was all mental, emotional; his mind was shutting down his body. She chastised herself for not figuring it out earlier as she reached out to grip Stiles’ hands. He clung to her painfully, eyes flaring amber, searching her face for support. The pain of his panic swirled under her hands like a hurricane. She knew what she had to do. 

Kaliska took a deep breath to steady herself as her eyes drifted shut. She focused on nothing but the swirling torrent of emotions churning through Stiles’ body. Little by little she allowed the agony to enter her, leeching the pain and fear through her fingertips. Her veins felt like fire as the stolen panic clawed up her arms, trying to get a hold on her. But it came up short every time. The panic wasn’t really hers, so it couldn’t affect her the way it was affecting Stiles, it could only lash out helplessly until she bottled it up and released it.

She felt Stiles’ breath slow to a normal pace, his lungs filled with air slowly. His pulse returned to its slightly faster than average pace, but it no longer pounded through his veins. Kaliska smiled down at him as his gaze refocused and his eyes returned to their deep honey brown color. She felt the relief swell in him, sharing in it through her hands, warming the icy grip of panic. 

Stiles fell backwards and sprawled across the floor, breathing slowly and stretching his tight muscles. The twinge in his leg reminded him that he had been shot, but it didn’t seem to hurt as much anymore. The burning had turned into itching and the pain had turned into something more like tension. He could even feel the bullet working its way back out. It was a bizarre feeling overall, but it was overshadowed by relief. They were going to be okay. 

Taipa was crouched over Rey’s body, watching indifferently as he rolled on his back clutching the knee she had shot moments earlier with his uninjured hand. His teeth ground together as she prodded the wound, daring him to scream. Kaliska had fully expected her grandmother to kill the man. A strange relief rushed through her with the awareness that she hadn’t. 

Taipa plucked the keys from Rey’s pockets and pushed him away from the cage with her foot, resulting in a cry of indignation, before opening the door at last. Stiles could sense the emotions overwhelming the two women. They shared a moment of incredulity before Kaliska sprinted forward and wrapped her arms around her grandmother, reveling in the feel of her touch against her human body. It had been months since she had been able to hug her grandmother like that. She nestled her nose into the crook of Taipa’s neck and breathed deeply, basking in the scent of family while her grandmother gently stroked her long, tangled hair. Stiles couldn’t wait to see his father. 

Suddenly the front doors burst open and three dark figures darted into the room. Adrenaline flooded their systems as they spun to defend themselves. Taipa pulled her granddaughter behind her and sighted her gun, eyes trying to track all three shapes as they dashed around the shadows.

Almost immediately the scent of smoke and pine filled Stiles’ senses, overpowering the subtle almond and coconut scents that followed. His heart raced with joy and relief flooded his system as he felt a familiar pull in his gut.

“Derek,” he called out weakly, his throat somehow raw. The tension in his gut swelled until he felt like he was enveloped in a warm blanket of security. 

“Stiles! Are you okay,” Scott’s voice echoed through the room. Stiles could hear them getting closer, but his vision was hazy. His body practically vibrated with pride. His pack had found him. They had actually come for him and they had found him. He turned over and dragged himself to the open door of the cage, reaching out into the darkness of the room dazedly. His eyes caught on the trail of blood that followed him, dripping slowly, but steadily from his leg. His stomach twisted and the sight and his head felt like it had been filled with cotton. He turned back to the darkened room, sniffing out the familiar, comforting scents.

“My pack,” he whispered, his vision starting to blacken as exhaustion finally caught up with him, “they came for me. They came to help us.” His raspy voice was laced with astonishment. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have his pack.

The last thing he remembered was a rough hand reaching out to him, grasping his out-stretched arm and sending a wave of contentment through his entire body before he blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry if you still have questions. Practically everything will be answered in the next chapter. 
> 
> Also, the names are odd, I know. Not the typical anglo-saxon monikers associated with Teen Wolf. BUT they were chosen for a reason. And they are Native American. In case that wasn't clear yet. Bonus points to whoever can name the tribe before I give it away next chapter! (Yes, they are from a real tribe.)


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay everybody. It's been a hectic week. I'm only going to be able to post once a week for a little while. (Unless I get a small, fun chapter out in one sitting or something.) I thank you all for your patience and kind words of encouragement. Your theories have been pretty entertaining so far, but this is the chapter that starts to really put the puzzle pieces together. You'll have to let me know if you saw any of this coming. 
> 
> Thanks again for being supportive and indulging me in this ridiculous story.

_Darkness surrounded Stiles._

_A gentle current seemed to carry him through space while a warm wind surrounded him, pressing into his skin like a soft kiss. He tried to move his limbs, but found that they were unwilling to cooperate. That was new. There was a vague feeling niggling at him, a feeling that he was forgetting something important. He combed his mind for an explanation, but found it to be strangely blank. He relaxed back into the current and let the warm air soothe him as he drifted further through the darkness._

Derek knelt at the cage entrance, grasping Stiles’ arm, silently taking stock of his injuries. Tiny scrapes were slowly healing all over his legs and a bullet was just appearing at the base of the hole in his thigh as his body tried to push it out. His pulse was steady, if a little softer than usual, but he seemed to be breathing well enough. He wasn’t dead. He was healing. Derek let out a small whine of relief before draining some of the pain from Stiles’ unconscious body.

“Who shot him,” Derek growled through gritted teeth.

“Him,” the woman said plainly, pointing to the man behind her.

The betas approached the cage anxiously, eyeing the unfamiliar figures standing outside of it, ignoring the massive hole in the sidewall next to them. The man lay huddled on the ground facing away from them, tracks of blood smeared into the ground around him. His arms clutched his leg to his chest as he whimpered softly into his shoulder. The woman stood facing them, blood trickling down her bare arm, winding between the dark vines of ink embedded in her skin. Her tactical vest was lined with knives and magazines, though some of the slots were suspiciously empty. Her bloody arm hung out to her side, forming a barrier between the wolves and the person she had hidden behind her. She glared back at them, challenging them to come closer. She looked exhausted, but lethal nonetheless.

“It looks like we’re a little late for the party,” Boyd said calmly, directed at no one in particular. The woman stared him down, unconvinced by his words, but a short laugh echoed from behind her.

Derek suddenly noticed the unmistakable plaid of Stiles’ shirt peeking out from behind the mysterious woman. His eyes flicked back to Stiles’ pale body lying in the cage, practically naked, blood dripping from his thigh, hand clutching at Derek’s arm unconsciously. His eyes flared red and his chest swelled with senseless rage. This person had stripped Stiles of his clothing; the only think standing between him and the viciousness of the hunters. And now he was lying bare and vulnerable and injured. The now familiar burning scent of the werefox drifted from behind the woman, somewhat masked by the scent of honeysuckle and Stiles’ blood. He dropped Stiles’ arm and lunged forward before he could stop himself, claws lengthening of their own accord. Boyd and Scott shot forward, grabbing his arms to pull him back before he could attack. The woman’s fingers flexed nervously around the gun she still had clutched in her hand. It was pointed down for the moment, but she was clearly willing to use it if needed.

“What have you done to him,” Derek seethed, the words stumbling slightly around his fangs. He felt Scott’s claws digging into his arm, discreetly begging him to calm down. Boyd tightened his grip on his other arm as Derek tried to pull away.

“We have done nothing but try to protect the boy,” the woman said, her voice soft, but firm. “This man and his associates used him to lure you here. They meant to kill you.”

Derek stared blankly back at her.

“Hunters don’t hunt here. Not for us. We have…an understanding with the locals. If these hunters are here, it’s because they followed you,” Derek spat back, unwilling to listen, unwilling to have his worst fears confirmed, that Stiles had been taken because of him.

The woman sighed and lowered her arm.

“You may have an agreement with the hunters here, but these hunters do not care. They will hunt anyone without concern or reason. However, you all do appear to be more than human, so at the very least their rationale would not be baseless.”

Growls rumbled through the three wolves’ chests, echoing through the room menacingly. An arm reached from behind the woman, pushing her aside as a younger woman stepped forward, hands held up in a sympathetic gesture.

“She doesn’t mean you deserve to be hunted,” the younger woman assured. “Trust me, she is not saying that at all. We just have a rough history with these particular hunters. Particularly, them attacking our tribe for no reason. She’s just saying, you know, at least there is proof that you are…supernatural.”

The girl shuffled awkwardly under the wolves’ scrutinizing glare, wringing her hands together sheepishly, the sleeves of Stiles’ shirt falling over fingers. Her eyes drifted to the floor, then to Stiles and back, her cheeks filling with color.

“I’m sorry I bit him,” her raspy voice choked out abruptly. Scott’s eyebrows shot up, a look of confusion painting his face. He glanced between the girl and Stiles, trying to figure out why she would have bitten him on the thigh and how it looked so much like a gunshot wound. Boyd eyed Derek as the alpha processed the apology. Confusion morphed into realization, quickly followed by anger.

This girl was the werefox. She was the one who had started this whole mess. Derek’s eyes snapped to her face, his lips curling back into a snarl as a growl ripped from his throat.

The girl shied backward as the woman shot an arm out in front of her protectively.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t know how else to warn you. I was scared and lost and confused. I needed help, but then when I saw you, I thought you might be just as dangerous as the hunters and I panicked. I ran. But then you all came after me. I didn’t know what to do. You were all so strong. I thought maybe you could fight them off, maybe you could win. But then I saw him and he was so human, so vulnerable in a pack of super human beings. I wanted to help him. I could tell he was the leader and if he decided to help, you all would. I could just sense it from him. I just wanted to give him some advantage.” Her voice cut out as tears started to stream down her face.

Derek stared at her, confused. She was telling the truth. How did she figure Stiles was the leader? Derek felt the thought winding through his mind. He had never considered anyone other than himself as the leader. He liked to think that they all had input, he wasn’t a dictator, but he was definitely the alpha. That meant he was the leader, right? _Not everyone’s_ , a small voice whispered in his ear. He startled suddenly as the realization struck him.

He was undoubtedly the alpha. But as the thought settled in his mind and resolve settled in his gut, he knew without hesitation that he would always defer to Stiles. He may be the alpha wolf, but Stiles was his alpha.

A moan broke the tension in the room. Five sets of eyes landed on the hunter who had started to tremble from shock and loss of blood.

“What are we gonna do with him,” Scott asked, barely keeping the vitriol from his voice. The wolves’ eyes widened, taken aback by the surprisingly dark tone of his words.

“I won’t kill him,” the woman said, “It is not my place or my way. But you are more than welcome to.”

“Really? Killing isn’t your style,” Boyd asked incredulously. “Those two hunters we found outside sure made it look like it was your style.” The woman rounded on him.

“If you had bothered to check closer, you would have seen that they are not dead, but incapacitated, as I needed them to be.” Boyd ducked down, sufficiently chastened. Derek had to respect her sense of honor, even if he didn’t share her morals.

The alpha stalked forward, grabbing the man’s injured leg and spinning him to face them. The man cried out in agony as the bullet worked its way deeper into his knee. A gasp from Scott caught Derek’s attention. He turned to see the beta stepping back, hands covering his mouth, eyes wide with shock. Derek looked back at the man, scouring his face, trying to remember if he had ever seen him before. The hunter’s face was a hard one to forget; Derek would have remembered that kind of scarring. He had gotten far too familiar with it, on Peter. But this man was still a stranger to him. He turned back to Scott.

“You know him,” the alpha stated, leaving no room for denial. Scott nodded numbly.

“That’s Reynard.” The man’s eyes shot up, quickly scanning Scott’s face. Recognition crossed his expression before turning to pure disgust. “He’s an Argent. The cousin who came into town unexpectedly last week,” Scott said, voice thin and hurt.

Derek firmly planted a kick into the man’s kidney, causing a shriek of pain from the hunter and a gasp from Scott and the girl.

“Don’t,” the girl cried out. The wolves turned to glare at her, eyes burning fiercely. “He’s…he’s not the one you want. He’s just a puppet. But he can lead you to the one you want.”

Derek eyed her suspiciously. Something was off about this whole situation.

“Boyd,” he bit out abruptly, “Call Erica, tell her we found him. We’ll meet them at the loft.” Boyd excused himself and wandered to the other side of the room to make the call.

“As for this piece of shit,” he sneered with another kick to the hunter’s side, “and his compatriots, well…Isaac does know a lot about digging graves.”

“Derek,” Scott warned, stepping forward and eyeing the man huddled on the floor, “maybe we should just give Chris a call, finally. I doubt he even knew what was going on. He’ll deal with them.”

“Right,” Derek scoffed, turning on the beta viciously, “the way they dealt with Gerard? The way they dealt with Allison’s psychotic aunt? They don’t deal with their people when they fall of the wagon, Scott. They give them a slap on the wrist and make them promise not to do it again. What good has that done? None. There’s no accountability among hunters. They think they’re all above the law and morality; they think they’re heroes. And they will always see us as the villains, as targets. Animals.” Derek’s voice faded off as he finished, the sudden anger seeping out of him as his eyes landed back on Stiles. Scott closed the distance between them and placed a firm, commiserating hand on his shoulder

“Uh, Derek,” Boyd’s voice called from across the room, “We may have a slight problem.” Derek’s head snapped up, already too tired to handle another crisis. Boyd opened his mouth to continue, but was cut off by the sound of the doors being thrown open.

Two curly blonde heads darted into the room, heading straight for Derek.

“What the hell are you doing here,” Derek asked, more exhausted than annoyed.

“Well, we kind of convinced the deputy to follow you by saying we had synced GPS in our phones,” Erica confessed sheepishly. Isaac fell in behind her, looking anywhere but Derek’s face. Erica confusedly watched a flash of panic cross Derek’s face at the mention of the deputy. Her eyes drifted over to cage, widening at the sight of Stiles. “Ohymygod, what happened to Stiles!? Please tell me he’s okay!”

“He was shot. But he’s healing. He’ll be okay,” Derek said blankly as the doors swung open and Deputy Parrish sauntered in. Erica fell forward, latching onto Derek’s arm for stability, her eyes glued to Stiles’ lifeless frame. Derek’s eyes tracked the deputy as he made his way through the darkness, taking in the cage, the hole in the wall, and the bleeding man on the ground.

“So, this all looks terrible,” Parrish announced light heartedly. Derek watched him nervously as he surveyed the area. The deputy’s eyes hesitated on the woman.

“Taipa,” he said with a casual nod, “always good to see you.”

The room fell silent, all eyes locked on the Parrish and the woman. The wolves glanced between themselves trying to figure out what to say.

“What the hell, man! You two know each other,” Erica finally asked, breaking the silence and tension. The deputy smiled his charming smile and nodded shyly.

“Taipa used to live in the town I came from. I’ve actually been looking for her for quite a while.” The woman eyed him nervously as he spoke, waves of fear rippling from her rigid frame. “But don’t worry about it. More pressing matters at hand. You guys should probably get to the hospital. Taipa, that arm looks pretty serious. And Stiles doesn’t look so good either,” he added with concern.

Isaac glanced around the room incredulously.

“And what are we supposed to do about all of this,” he asked skeptically.

“Don’t worry. I have a detail following, they’ll be here soon. I’ll take care of everything here. You guys just need to go. It’ll make it easier on all of us, since there is no way I can logically explain anyone other than Stiles being here.” It made a surprising amount of sense. “Taipa, I’m assuming you have a car nearby,” he asked hopefully. The woman gave a stilted nod. “Great, you should all be able to fit between the two cars. Now move, you’ve only got a couple minutes.”

“Erica, Boyd, you go with Taipa,” Derek announced, stumbling slightly over the name. Erica bounded over to wrap her arms around Boyd’s before turning to face the woman expectantly. The girl stepped forward, offering her had to Erica.

“Hi, I’m Kaliska. I’m the one who bit Stiles. But he just saved my life, so I think he’s cool with it,” she said in way of greeting. Erica chuckled anxiously and shook the girl’s hand.

“Erica,” she responded. “And this gorgeous chocolate teddy bear is Boyd. And he can definitely drive if your arm isn’t feeling up to it,” she added, suddenly noticing the blood running down the older woman’s arm. She nodded once and turned to leave, through the hole in the wall.

“I think she likes you,” Kaliska joked as she led the two betas outside.

“Boyd, wait for us by the Camaro,” Derek said. The beta waved in recognition of the command as he ducked through the hole and disappeared.

Derek stepped back into the cage, eyes shifting over Stiles limp body. He knelt down and gently lifted him from the cold ground. His eyes glazed over as he clutched the boy to his chest, staring out into the shadows of the room, not really seeing anything. His senses were locked onto the faint flutter of Stiles’ pulse, the too slow, too small rise and fall of his chest. He could smell the blood still dripping down Stiles’ leg, the stench of singed flesh, overpowered only by the acrid, bitter tang of panic. His stomach twisted with guilt.

Scott had sensed the waves of despair coming off of the alpha before, practically as soon as they entered the building. The sight of Stiles lying on the floor of the cage, the scent of his blood permeating the building, had nearly sent Derek into another rage. Instead, Derek had rushed straight for him, his heart skipping beats left and right as anger was replaced with dread. Scott had tried to follow, but was startled into stopping when Derek turned and snapped at him, his fangs glistening and eyes blazing red. Scott still wasn’t sure what that had been about; it was like Derek had considered him a threat almost.

Scott stepped forward to place a hand over Stiles’ forehead, damp with sweat. He could feel the energy charging through Stiles’ body, pushing the bullet from his leg, knitting the skin and tissue back together; he was healing. Scott could tell that he was healing, but he still had to feel it for his own peace of mind. Derek continued to stare blankly across the room as Isaac shuffled awkwardly nearby. Scott stepped back to take a long look at his best friend, bruised, bloody, and beaten. His heart felt like lead as he stepped back further. Stiles was never meant to be involved in this life; he had kept Scott from harm so many times and yet Scott hadn’t been able to save him from this.

“Ok,” Scott said firmly, swallowing down the thoughts of failure, “Isaac and I will go get the car. We need to get Stiles help. Meet you out front.” He grabbed Isaac’s arm as he passed, pulling him away from Derek and Stiles. “I’ll call mom and let her know we’re coming.”

Derek nodded as thanks, but remained silent otherwise. Scott could just make out the black veins snaking up the alpha’s arms as he headed out into the night.

________ _ _ _

____ _ _

_There was a smell in the void. Stiles had been floating for a while now, blissfully unaware of his surroundings as the warm wind hugged him close. But now there was a smell. It was almost familiar, like a campfire…in a forest of pine trees. He didn’t know where the smell had come from, it had just appeared suddenly, wrapping itself into the wind until it was all Stiles could sense. It was frightening at first, but it quickly became comforting, like the smell of dinner cooking when you’re really hungry, or the smell of your house when you finally get home from a long trip; familiar, soothing, homey. It was almost euphoric in the emptiness of the dark._

_The breeze carrying him started to feel different. Rather than floating on a cushion of air, it started to feel like an actual cushion. Stiles ran his hands alongside of his imagined body, aimlessly testing whether or not he could feel. His hands caught on the smooth, worn softness of…leather?_

_Stiles shifted his body, leaning up on one hip to examine what he had felt. It was impossibly dark, but his eyes somehow pictured a jacket lying under him. A jacket?_

_The breeze that carried him stopped. The wind around him began to howl in his ears, singing a lamenting song and calling his name. He looked down and saw a bright, piercing light shining up at him. He reached out to it._

_Suddenly he was falling. His arms flung out and his legs kicked manically, but nothing slowed him. He fell and fell, the light growing brighter and bigger. He continued to fall, even as his stomach stopped flipping, growing comfortable with the rapid descent, even as his heart returned to a normal pace. Still he fell._

_The howling wind died to whisper, replaced by a shrill beep. Followed by another. Then another. A steady stream of irritating noise._

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

______ _ _ _ _

The sheriff looked up at the heart monitor. It had been a steady, slow, 50 beats per minute since they had brought Stiles in, but it was starting to speed up, quickly. He leaned forward, clutching Stiles’ hand, anxiously watching his son’s face for any signs of waking.

Stiles’ eyelashes fluttered. He blinked into consciousness, shying away from the bright intrusive lights above him. There was a dark shape next to him, hunched next to his side, watching him. He weakly raised a hand and felt warm, calloused fingers wrap around his own. Stiles knew those hands. He would always know those hands.

“Hey dad,” he croaked, his throat still surprisingly raw.

A sigh of relief echoed in the air. He could feel his father’s heart jumping for joy. At least he hoped it was joy. It could have been stress. That would probably make more sense. At this rate, his dad was going to have a heart attack no matter how well Stiles took care of him.

“ ‘s bright,” he managed to get out. The lights immediately flickered off. Stiles slowly opened his eyes, taking in the shockingly still bright room. He was definitely in the hospital. He was hooked up to half a dozen machines connected to him with wires or IVs, each beeping obnoxiously around his head. A row of mismatched chairs, scavenged from what looked like every waiting room in the building, sat in an arc around his bed. There were bags and coats littered all over the floor. Stiles had to smile; he would recognize the scents of the pack anywhere.

“They just stepped out to get some food,” a voice by the door informed him. Stiles startled at the unexpected noise. Scott stumbled forward, raising his hands apologetically.

“Sorry, man! Didn’t mean to scare you.” He looked miserable, like he hadn’t slept in days and was personally responsible for every bad thing that had ever happened, anywhere.

“No worries, bro. It’s almost touching that you stayed to keep vigil while those other ingrates went off gallivanting. You’re such a good boyfriend,” Stiles joked, throwing a wink in Scott’s direction. A small smile pulled at Scott’s mouth.

“Well that settles it,” the sheriff said with a long-suffering sigh and a roll of his eyes, “You’re clearly going to be fine. I’ll go get Melissa. She wanted to know when you woke up. I’ll leave you to your…Scott.” He stood up clumsily, stretching out his limbs and cracking his joints. Stiles’ heart sank; his father must have been there for a long time. Before he left the room, the sheriff leaned down and placed a quick kiss to the top of Stiles’ head.

“Glad you’re ok, kiddo.” Stiles could feel the discomfort and apprehension rolling off of his father in waves. Guilt ate at him as his father turned for the door. The sheriff had already spent far too much of his life in a hospital, Stiles had never wanted to be the reason he returned to one.

“Thanks, dad. I’m sorry, for all of this,” Stiles’ called after him, voice barely above a whisper. The sheriff nodded back as he entered the hall. Scott quickly shut the door behind him before stealing his spot at Stiles’ side.

“Don’t worry, man. He’s been handling it really well. We knew pretty early that you were gonna be fine. He’s just tired because he didn’t want to leave you alone.” Scott always knew what Stiles needed to hear.

“So, what do you remember,” he asked nervously. Stiles settled back against the pillows and thought.

“Well, I remember dancing at Jungle, having an awesome time with everyone, getting an AMAZING blo – uh…buzz…and then I woke up in a van, handcuffed to a pipe, with a bag over my head,” Stiles rattled off casually, coughing over his almost reveal. “Then I’m pretty sure I was thrown in a cage with the fox, who turned into a girl and then her grandma blew a hole in the wall and started majorly kicking ass.”

Stiles sat up abruptly as the memories caught up to him. “Ohmygod, where is Lis? And her grandma? Are they okay?”

Scott nodded quickly and placed a firm hand on Stiles’ shoulder, gently pushing him back onto the bed.

“Calm down, dork, we’re fine,” another voice called out. The privacy curtain around his side of the room was kicked back to reveal Kaliska sitting on her grandmother’s bed, swinging her legs over the edge like a little kid since her feet couldn’t reach the ground. She was wearing normal clothes now, ones that actually fit her. Stiles grinned at her oddly familiar style: dark jeans, graphic tee, plaid over shirt, Converse sneakers. Kaliska smiled nervously at Stiles’ scrutinizing gaze. His eyes trailed over to the woman. She was lying behind Lis wearing a sling and a scowl. Kaliska waved a hand back at her grandmother apologetically.

“Don’t mind her. She doesn’t like hospitals. They make you wait too long to leave,” she said easily, as if being in a hospital was a common occurrence, and check out times were a standard topic of discussion.

Stiles opened his mouth to ask, but was cut off as the door swung open and a boisterous group of energetic wolf pups piled into the room. He was surrounded in seconds, relieved faces smiling down at him while comforting hands patted whatever they could reach.

“I’m so glad you’re awake,” Erica squeaked in his ear, planting a wet kiss on his cheek. He swore he heard a growl from the other side of the room. “You had us a little worried, we didn’t know how foxes healed.”

“I told you how foxes heal,” Kaliska pouted from across the room. Erica made a face at her, jokingly. Apparently some bonding had happened while Stiles was out.

“Apparently you heal pretty much the same way we do, you just have a longer recovery period,” Boyd informed him with a pat on the arm. He wrapped an arm around Erica’s shoulders and pulled her back to give Stiles some space to breathe. Stiles silently thanked him with a nod; the attention was making his feel claustrophobic.

Isaac fell in next to the other betas, hovering near the foot of the bed. His eyes flicked around the room, cataloguing everyone’s reactions as if he wasn’t sure how to react. He had never seen how normal, supportive people behaved when someone was hurt. Eventually he gave a shy smile and patted Stiles’ foot awkwardly before stepping back into the shadows.

Derek stepped forward finally, his face grave, but relieved. He wrapped his fingers around Stiles’ and squeezed once, gently, just enough to let him know he was there. Heat soared through Stiles’ body at the touch, warming every part of him, releasing every happy chemical his brain could supply. He felt the strange tension in his gut flare to life, reaching out for Derek franticly. The alpha tried to pull away, but Stiles latched onto his hand and refused to let go. He wound his other hand around Erica’s, suddenly needing to feel the pack.

He laid back silently for a moment, letting the warmth of the pack wash over him. Scott’s hand settled on his shoulder, reminding him that he was safe again. Leave it to Scott to know when he really needed comfort. Boyd and Isaac seemed to pick up on it too, each one gently laying a hand on Stiles’ legs. It should have felt strange, to have all these people just touching him, but it mainly felt amazing. He felt connected, grounded, like he was actually safe and whole.

A throat cleared from the doorway, breaking the mellow trance in the room. The betas pulled their hands back quickly, but Derek’s lingered, not fully wanting to let go.

“Welcome back,” Melissa greeted cheerfully, the sheriff in tow. “Just going to run a few tests, make sure everything’s working and then we’ll probably release you by lunch.”

“Wait, what time is it now? How long have I been here,” Stiles wondered aloud.

“It’s 9:30 in the morning right now. You were brought in early yesterday morning.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped. He had been passed out for over twenty-four hours?

“It’s normal,” his father assured him with a pained smile. “You went through a lot, physically and emotionally, over the past couple days. Your body needed to recharge.” Stiles could tell he was blaming himself, which literally could not be further from the truth.

“It’s not your fault, dad. Seriously.” His father frowned at him.

“With the amount of planning that went into this, it’s hard not to see it that way,” he sighed. Stiles was really going to have to sit his father down for a talk one of these days, but not right now.

“Even if it was, it’s okay. I’m proud of you. And if this is what comes of you being the badass-est sheriff on the west coast, then I’ll just have to learn to defend myself better,” Stiles decided. He could feel the tension running through the pack at the idea of Stiles getting into more trouble.

“Language,” his father scolded lightly with a weak smile.

“You got it, bossman.” The sheriff shook his head with a longsuffering sigh.

“Alright, we’re all going to clear out and let Melissa do what she needs to do. I’m going to go check on Parrish.” Stiles’ eyes shot up, confusion written across his face.

“What happened to him?”

“One of the kidnappers got the drop on him while he was waiting for back-up, which he should have done before going in,” the sheriff added angrily. Stiles’ hand clenched tight. He could practically hear Derek and Erica’s bones creaking from the pressure. “Bastard ran off to who knows where, but we’ll find him.” Stiles heart started to race, the shrill beep of the monitor speeding up exponentially with it. Sensing his son’s distress, the sheriff tucked himself in between Derek and Isaac and gave Stiles’ thigh a reassuring pat. Stiles’ pulse spiked even higher as shock and guilt colored his features. His dad’s hand was resting practically on top of the gun shot wound he had suffered. Did his dad know about that too?

“Don’t worry,” he insisted, “We still have the other two in custody. They’ll talk. But Randy’s gonna have a nasty concussion for a while. I know he should’ve waited for backup, but I’m just glad he got you out of there first. I’ll let him know you’re awake. He’ll be glad too.” He gave Stiles another tight smile, but his eyes remained sad, his mind overwrought with the hypotheticals where Stiles didn’t make it back to him safely. Stiles released Derek’s hand and placed his own over his fathers. The sheriff gave him another squeeze before ushering the pack out of the room. They left slowly, dragging their feet and throwing cautious glances over their shoulders constantly until Melissa started forcefully pushing them out of the room.

“I need five minutes guys. Go get him something from the gift store or something,” she beseeched.

“Ooh, Reeses,” Stiles called out as the door finally closed. He could hear their laughter drifting down the hallway.

Melissa approached him calmly, writing down different numbers on his chart from the army of machines attached to him. Stiles sat patiently, watching as she flitted about the room. Eventually she put the chart down and turned to face him.

“So, what do you have to tell me,” she asked bluntly. Stiles flinched at the disciplinary tone. His eyes shifted nervously around the room, trying to figure out how much she already knew.

“Um,” he started lamely, “not a lot?” Melissa’s lips flattened into a straight line, one eyebrow raised skeptically. She threw the blanket covering his legs back and pointed at his bandaged thigh.

“Really? You don’t want to explain how you got shot and healed within a matter of hours? You don’t feel the need to explain why these two were brought in with you, one wounded, and the other wearing your clothes?” She stared him down.

“Uh, want to? Not really.” Melissa scoffed at him.

“Tough luck kid, start talking,” she ordered definitively. Stiles groaned.

“Fine. So you know how Scott’s a werewolf? Well apparently wolves aren’t the only weres in the world. I got bit by a fox a few weeks ago and then shortly after woke up in a small, fuzzy, four-legged, red body.” Melissa stared at him, unblinking. Her face was completely blank, revealing nothing. Stiles couldn’t tell if she was mad, scared, surprised, anything.

“So yeah, I guess there are some werefox hunters in town and they decided to trap me and the fox who bit me? Also I can apparently heal from gun shot wounds now. Which at one point in my life, I would have considered an exorbitant ability, but now, I’m kinda thinking it’s pretty damn useful.”

Melissa watched him closely as he shifted under her steely gaze.

“You need to tell your father. He doesn’t know you were shot because I didn’t tell him. He doesn’t know anything about what happened when you got here. We told him that you had blacked out and that you were dehydrated. But I will not lie to that man again. He deserves better. Take Lis with you if you have to, but you tell him what’s going on.”

Stiles’ head shot up, eyes wide.

“Wait, you knew?” Melissa smiled at him coolly.

“Stiles, sweetheart, always assume that I know everything. I’ll go start writing up your release papers. Get some rest and think about what I said.” With that final thought, she flipped the blanket back over his legs and left the room. Stiles stared after her disbelievingly.

“Um, sorry,” Kaliska said, clearing her throat, “We were told we could trust her and that she needed to know everything, so I kind of told her…everything.”

“That actually makes a lot more sense,” Stiles exhaled on a breath of relief. “And is much less terrifying than Melissa suddenly being telepathic or something because there are SO many thing that I hope she never finds out about.” Kaliska giggled at his stricken look.

“I don’t even want to know,” she added as the pack burst back into the room.

Scott skipped forward excitedly and dumped an entire gift bag full of Reeses into Stiles’ lap.

“You are the bessst,” Stiles groaned as he scooped up the candy. Scott brightened considerably at the praise. It was nice that he and Stiles still loved to make the other happy. Stiles settled back against the pillows with his candy as the rest of the pack grabbed a piece and returned to their seats.

“Thanks. For everything,” he said to the room. “I didn’t know if you’d be able to find me, but you all saved my life.”

Erica scoffed at him.

“Did you expect us to just leave you there,” she asked incredulously, her voice tinged with hurt.

“No,” Stiles exclaimed. “I just, I didn’t think I was worth the whole pack coming out to rescue me…”

“Stiles’ you’ve saved all of us multiple times at this point, starting from the time we were in elementary school, in this very hospital,” Isaac added confusingly. “Did you really think we wouldn’t return the favor?”

Stiles stared back at the pack, trying to parse what Isaac’s words meant. A memory floated to the front of his mind, from the time his mother was still alive, but lay dying in the rooms upstairs. He pictured the shaggy haired boy with the broken arm, the frizzy haired girl who practically lived in the children’s ward and played with he and Scott every day, the little girl whose older brother supervised the construction of a pillow fort and had to deem it safe before allowing his sister inside. All those kids from his memories, the ones that made the worst time of his life just a little more bearable, they were the same people sitting around his bed. He bit back the unshed tears forcing their way into his eyes. He looked down at the candy in his hands, the candy these wonderful people had brought him.

“I never realized that was you guys,” he admitted quietly.

“You never would,” Boyd said plainly. “You may act like an ass with no moral compass who only looks out for himself, but you instinctually help people all the time. And most of the time, there’s nothing in it for you, you just help because they need it.” Stiles stared at him, flattered beyond belief. He never considered himself to be a helpful person, at least not selflessly.

“Just so you know, we’re not helping you just because you need it,” Derek added softly, “We’re helping you because we need you.” Stiles’ chest swelled with a plethora of emotion. He didn’t know which to feel first, so he just let them all jumble together into a strange, warm glow.

“You’re the only one that holds us all together,” Scott chimed in cheerfully. “And we will always be willing to help you, whether you ask for it or not.” Stiles beamed back at his best friend, his eyes slowly drifting over the rest of the pack.

“Thanks,” he whispered again, looking back down at the pile of candy. He really needed to change the subject or he was going to turn into a gooey mess of emotional blubbering, and no one needed to see that. He plucked two Reeses out of the pile and tossed them over to Kaliska, who barely managed to catch them due to surprise. She stared back at him confused.

“Eat up, Lis, it’s story time. I wanna know why Reynard is after you.” Kaliska pulled her legs up onto the bed, folding them in front of her and hunching down to appear smaller. She turned and shared a look of pain with her grandmother before nodding once and facing the pack.

“I will try to explain the best I can. Just, please don’t stop me,” she pleaded. “If I stop, I won’t be able to start again.”

The pack watched her sympathetically, nodding their assurance. Her grandmother sat forward, wrapping an encouraging hand over her knee. Kaliska took a deep breath and began.

“I met Reynard when I was much younger, just barely a teenager. His family came to a powwow the local tribes held for the public, to garner more support for our struggle to keep sacred lands protected. We are one of the few communities of the Miwok tribe who still live on our ancestral lands and we have to fight to keep them every day. It was the first powwow I got to perform in with the adults. I was so nervous. Silver Fox, my grandmother, she is a tribal elder, a medicine woman. It was expected that anyone from her family would perform perfectly. But I am not perfect. I’m clumsy and not light on my feet and easily discombobulated. It was nerve racking.

“When our first dance began, I noticed a boy in the crowd watching me. He was beautiful. Every time I caught his eye, he would smile and it would light up his face. Typically people come and go throughout performances, but he stayed for the entire show. We danced for over almost an hour and he stayed, watching and cheering and smiling. I had never danced so well in my life.”

The pact was captivated by her story. The energy and emotion in her voice gave her words life. Erica, Isaac, and Scott were practically hanging onto her ever word. But Derek looked like he was in a trance, an unhappy one. Boyd watched him cautiously, fidgeting at random just so he could bump Derek’s shoulder to snap him out of it.

“The boy approached me after the performance and introduced himself. He said his name was Rey and that he thought I was the ‘most captivating creature’ he’d ever laid eyes on. I was hooked immediately. The powwow lasted a week and he returned every day to find me. We spent the week wandering through the celebration, taking walks in the woods, sneaking off to have picnics under the stars, dancing at the bonfires. Just enjoying each other’s company. He was a few years older than me, but we didn’t care. He said I was very mature and that the difference in age didn’t bother him. I was just thrilled that someone had finally noticed me. He was so kind and eloquent and I was just naïve enough to not realize that people are manipulative.

“The elders were skeptical of him from the start. They though his intentions were dubious, but there was something about him they didn’t like. That of course made him more appealing to a rebellious teenager, so I went out of my way to meet with him, in secret if need be. Everything was perfect.

“But then he started asking about the tribe, in a way that was more than just curiosity. I didn’t want to admit it at first, but he kept pressuring me for information. Asking about rituals we had with the moon. Asking hundreds of questions about Fox and Coyote. Asking how we slept and what our ‘teepees’ were like. Looking back, it was obvious that he was gathering information and throwing in offensive terms as often as possible, but at the time I thought he was just confused and wanted to know more about the tribes. Grandmother grew suspicious. She didn’t like his questions and she didn’t like where they came from. She had heard stories about a group of hunters who chose human prey. They were most active on full moons and spread tales of werewolves everywhere they went. She warned me to stay away from him.”

Erica’s hand wound its way into Boyd’s. She wore a sickened expression. Boyd leaned over, offering her his shoulder to lean on. Isaac looked skittish, like he knew the story was going to turn violent soon. He was probably right. Scott kept inching closer to Kaliska, dying to offer her support or comfort. Stiles was so proud of his choice of best friend. Derek looked like he was going to be sick. The color had yet to return to his face, but a fine sheen of sweat had broken out across his forehead. Kaliska continued her story, her voice barely a whisper.

“He said he loved me. He took me out, deep into the woods, one night so we could…be alone. He kept me out for hours. I know now he was toying with me, but at the time I thought it was love.” Her voice trailed off as tears filled her eyes. Taipa gave her a reassuring squeeze before taking over.

“While they were gone, I noticed men outside our caravan. We took RVs to the powwows since we would often travel for days to get to them and stay for weeks. The tribes were allowed different areas of the fairgrounds to set up individual camps. Ours was off in an alcove, separated from the rest. I noticed the men at sunset, darting through the trees, circling us. They were leaving a trail of dust behind them as they ran. I didn’t know what it was, but I didn’t like it. Everything about these men felt wrong. These were bad men. I feared for Kaliska because she had not yet returned.

“I prayed to our gods, Fox and Coyote, for guidance. They blessed me with a vision: the smell of fire and alcohol filled the air around me as flashes of screams filled my mind. The men were going to burn us. I thanked Fox for her wisdom and started to warn the others.

“But I forgot to thank Coyote. He is an unruly spirit, the opposite of Fox. He took my omission as a slight and chose to punish my granddaughter for my mistake. He turned her into what she is today. It is my fault that these men still hunt her.”

Kaliska clutched her grandmother’s hand to her chest and shook her head vigorously.

“It is my fault. I chose to disobey. I chose to ignore your warnings. Coyote decided to teach me this lesson. You know that.” She turned to face the pack again, resolve slowly building in her eyes. “Coyote’s ‘lesson’ hit me as I was coming back with Rey. We were just outside of the camp when I felt the sharp pains of my first transformation hit me. I fell to the ground, shuddering from pain, but Rey just stood back and watched me. I couldn’t name his expression at the time, but I know now it was vindicated disgust. My body folded in on itself until I was a quarter the size I should have been. I looked down and saw black paws where my hands should have been.

“Rey charged at me, a knife pulled from his back pocket. I ran. I ran as fast as I could back to my grandmother. But, I was blocked by a ring of dust around the campsite. I screamed and barked and howled for help, but no one came. The camp was empty. My tribe was hidden. I finally noticed the three men tied up in the center of the ring. They weren’t Miwok. They weren’t even native. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. Rey burst out of the trees, his knife held forward, aiming…” her voice broke over her words.

“Aiming for her throat,” Taipa continued. “I was watching from behind my trailer, waiting for their return. We had successfully trapped and incapacitated the other men, and convinced them to explain their actions. They thought we were werewolves. We had laughed at them. We thought they had read too much Twilight. At least I thought that until I saw my granddaughter running towards me as a fox. I don’t know how, but I knew it was her as soon as I saw her.

“Reynard was holding a knife to my granddaughter’s throat a mere ten feet from my trailer. I did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed the cocktail the men had intended to use on us and lit the alcohol soaked rag hanging out of it. I screamed as I charged forward, distracting the boy enough that he loosened his grip. I yelled for Kaliska to run and hurled the flaming bottle at him. It burst on the ground right where Kaliska had been held. Rey tried to roll away, but the fireball consumed the side of his body.

“After that we ran. We left the tribe, to save them from danger. The boy was in the hospital for weeks, therapy for months. We thought we were safe in our new town, the one where we met the deputy. We thought Rey would leave us alone, that he would never find us. But he must have tracked us the whole time. He must have had help. And now he has followed us here and we have put you all in danger. I am sorry.”

The pack sat silently. Huddled together, letting their minds wrap around the implications of the tale. Stiles leaned forward, watching Derek anxiously. Reynard’s methods sounded disturbingly familiar, a familiarity that only two people in room could recognize. The alpha sat stock still, sweat pouring from him. Stiles could feel the anxiety, fear, and guilt churning in his stomach through their bond. He wanted nothing more than to pull Derek onto the bed and wrap himself around him, to protect him, to sooth him, to create a force-field to block out the world. He tried to impart a sense tranquility and security through the bond, but he didn’t know how it worked. Stiles knew he had helped Kaliska in the cage, but he didn’t know how.

Derek’s head snapped up suddenly, his eyes latching onto Stiles’ immediately. Had it worked? Had Stiles actually forced the alpha to calm down without even touching him? He would have to test that ability a little bit later, when pressing matters weren’t at hand. But right now, there was a hard to kill hunter with a serious vendetta after Kaliska, and by proxy, Stiles too. They were going to need all hands on deck from here on out.

A sudden thought crossed Stiles’ mind, something his father had said.

“Wait a second,” he interrupted, “Dad said they only caught two hunters. Does anyone know which one escaped?” He had a sinking feeling he already knew, but he was hoping he was wrong.

“It was Rey,” Kaliska whispered, staring down at the ground, hopelessness coating her voice.

“Fuck,” Stiles swore. “Is this dude indestructible or something? How the hell did a dude with a bullet in his knee and a hole in his hand knock out a police officer and scamper off somewhere!?”

“That was my question as well,” Taipa said distrustfully. A silence fell over the room. Eyes darted from person to person, each asking silent questions, posing mute theories.

“Wait, you guys don’t think Parrish let him go, do you,” Stiles asked to the room at large. He noticed Derek’s breath catch in his throat as the question hung in the air.

“What is it,” Stiles asked directly, leaving no question as to whom he was asking. The alpha startled and his eyes latched onto Stiles’, anger and fear battling for dominance of his expression.

“Parrish knew. About me, I mean, he knew what I am, what we all are. He knows about werewolves, somehow.”

Derek fell silent as the door creaked opened, the bright lights from the hallway casting a dark shadow over the trespasser's face.

A collective gasp rang through the room as recognition dawned on each of their faces.

“So, what are you guys talking about,” Parrish asked.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I'm a little under a week between posts, but we'll call it an Easter miracle. 
> 
> To those who celebrate, Happy Easter!
> 
> To those who celebrate and have a more warped sense of humor, Happy Zombie Jesus day!
> 
> To those who don't celebrate, Happy Spring!
> 
> To those in a pissy mood, go fuck yourself. (In the most loving way possible.)
> 
> I think the end is in sight for this fic. Not saying it's ending soon, but it's in sight. Thank you all for sticking with me on this. It's been a great first chapter fic experience and your support and interest has made it all worth while. As a reward, the next couple chapters are gonna have waaayyy more Sterek happening. You've earned it!

Derek was across the room before anyone even registered that he had moved. He had Parrish pinned up against the wall with his forearm jammed against the deputy’s throat. A vicious sneer was plastered on the alpha’s face, and though his features were still human, the look was menacing enough to keep the rest of the pack away out of pure instinct. It was times like these that reminded Stiles that Derek wasn’t just playing alpha; he actually was the alpha.

 

Parrish stared back at Derek with an eerily calm expression, even as his face started to turn purple. He made no move to fight back, simply surrendering to the man before him, arms hanging limply at his sides, eyes confidently holding Derek’s gaze.

 

Scott rushed to shut the door before some orderly walked by and saw them assaulting an officer. Stiles was beginning to think his best friend actually could read his mind; he had only just begun to think about closing the door and Scott was already in action.

 

The rest of the room watched with bated breath, unsure of how to proceed or how far Derek was willing to take his attack. The other betas sat poised at the edge of their seats, ready to jump in if need be (although the need was relatively unlikely since Derek was an alpha werewolf and Parrish was not). Taipa and Kaliska hung back, watching the scene unfold, eying the deputy skeptically, the faintest glimmer of recognition lighting their eyes.

 

“Derek,” Stiles warned quietly, breaking through the alpha’s determined concentration. Though he wasn’t entirely sure Derek’s actions were unjustified, Stiles knew they couldn’t just attack without any proof. If his father had taught him anything, it was that proof would save your ass from imminent disaster nine times out of ten.

 

Derek’s teeth ground together as his jaw flexed in contemplative anger. Slowly, he released the deputy, pulling his arm back just enough to let air fill the man’s lungs. The pack waited while the color gradually faded from Parrish’s face and his breathing evened out. Derek stayed planted in front of the man, preventing him from moving any closer to his pack. Stiles could feel the almost uncontrollable hurt and anger swirling in Derek’s chest. Yet again, someone he had tried to trust had turned against him.

 

Stiles’ heart broke for the alpha. He had never considered himself to be an emotional person, but Derek’s miserable life just brought it out of him. He legitimately could not understand how Derek hadn’t just said “Fuck the world” at this point and gone off to live by himself in a cabin where no one would ever bother him again. But then Stiles wouldn’t get to bother him, and he suddenly realized that he really, really wanted to keep bothering Derek.

 

He felt the tug of his connection to Derek idly drawing at his breaking heart. ‘It had worked before’, he thought, ‘why not try it again?’ He focused all of his energy on that thin thread connecting them, latching onto it in his mind, and forced every calm, happy, loving memory he could towards it. He followed the thoughts as they dripped along the thread, spreading soothing warmth through his chest. His eyes cracked open to peek at Derek, wondering if he was actually doing anything at all.

 

The alpha remained a blockade between Parrish and the pack, but the betrayed look in his eyes had softened. His shoulders had sagged ever so slightly and his fist hung loosely open at his side. Stiles smiled to himself.

 

Suddenly he felt a fuzzy, liquid-like feeling wash over him, enveloping him in a bubble of calm contentment. The vacillating bubble felt like a thousand hugs and kisses being bestowed upon him at the same time, all over his body.

 

_Thank you,_ Derek’s voice echoed in his mind. That was definitely new. Not only Derek thanking someone, but hearing him do so in his mind. Stiles fought the blush rising in his cheeks and silently thanked the pack for being far too interested in the Derek/Parrish situation to pay him any attention. At least he thought they were too distracted, until he caught Kaliska’s gaze and she gave him a ridiculous eyebrow wiggle. Stiles rolled his eyes at her so hard he almost felt dizzy from it.

“Who are you really,” Derek asked, deathly serious. Parrish blinked at him confusedly.

 

“What? I’m Randolph Parrish, you know that, Dere-“ The deputy’s words were cut off as Derek pushed him back against the wall. This time his arm had jammed into the deputy’s chest, so he could still answer the alpha’s questions.

 

“Cut the crap,” he hissed venomously, eyes boring into Parrish’s. “You know what I am. There are only three types of people who would recognize me: my family, my allies, and my enemies. My family’s dead, so that leaves you two choices. Which one are you?”

 

The pack glared at Parrish as he weighed his options, but Stiles and Scott’s eyes were glued to Derek. Stiles could feel Scott’s sympathy radiating from across the room. Practically everyone in the room knew what is felt like to lose family, but none so much as Derek. The fact that he now only saw the world in terms of allies and enemies was heartbreaking.

 

Parrish sighed and sagged back against the wall. His expression was filled with concern, but not for himself. His soft, sympathetic gaze never left Derek’s as he spoke.

 

“I would hope you would never consider me your enemy, Derek. Hell, I thought we were friends. But if you have to separate enemies and allies, then I am an ally, 100%,” Parrish assured him. “Alright, so I know your big secret. It’s not a big deal. I’m not going to treat you any different because of it.” Seven sets of ears confirmed that his heart had remained perfectly steady as he spoke, but no one’s mind was really put at ease by his assurance.

 

“What do you know,” Scott asked quietly from the door. Stiles was impressed with his strategy; it was the best way to see how much Parrish knew about the rest of them without giving away that there was anything to know. It put the entire weight of the reveal on Parrish’s shoulders so that no new information would get passed by accident. Parrish shot Scott a quick smirk, clearly as impressed by his interrogation technique as Stiles was.

 

The small gesture of humility surprised Derek. He stepped back, letting his arm fall back to his side, and waited for Parrish to explain.

 

“Fine,” Parrish finally conceded. “I’m going to be blunt here because we’re wasting time with this. Derek, I know you’re a werewolf.” No one moved, but eight sets of lungs held their breath. “I assumed you’re an alpha and that the rest of these people are your pack. Minus Taipa and her granddaughter, obviously.” The pack began to fidget nervously in their seats. Stiles watched with a blank expression, trying his hardest not to react to anything. His first instinct was to scoff at the pronouncement, but he knew he would overdo it and make everything that much more obvious, so he chose to sit on his hands and do nothing.

 

“Ridiculousness of that statement aside, how do you know Taipa,” Scott continued. Stiles beamed with pride at the boy. He was really taking control of the situation, and it was kind of turning Stiles on a little bit (if he was completely honest with himself). Stiles notice Isaac staring at Scott with a very similar expression.

 

“One of the towns I was in before this one, it was up north, just on the outskirts of Miwok land. It’s a small town, nothing ever really happened there. I met Taipa once, on a trip onto the reservation. They were all gearing up for some big powwow and a couple local kids kept sneaking in at night and messing with their equipment. I was the rookie on the force, so I was sent to check it out and knock some sense into the kids. I had to talk to the council, where I met Taipa, officially.”

 

Everyone turned to face Taipa, waiting for her to corroborate. She nodded once, but her expression remained uncertain. Parrish looked slightly hurt that she either didn’t remember him, or worse, didn’t trust him.

 

“It was a brief meeting,” Parrish explained, “I was still really young, I’ve changed. Anyway, the tribe left for their meeting and I was left to patrol the reserve while they were gone, just to make sure no one caused any trouble without the elders there. They were expected to be gone for almost a month, but they came back after only a week. They all looked shaken when they returned. It took me a while to realize Taipa was even missing. I tried to get them to talk about what happened, but they all shut down and refused to involve ‘the law’.”

 

Taipa looked down at her hands guiltily. Kaliska reached over and wound her fingers into her grandmother’s, silently letting her know she wasn’t at fault. Parrish watched the exchange like a hawk, cataloguing every minor movement and every shift in expression. He sighed quietly, looking down at the ground in dismay.

 

“I found their secrecy suspicious, so I looked into what happened at the gathering. Found something about a campsite being sectioned off and three men getting hog-tied and another getting burned pretty badly. I tried to look into them, but they all disappeared pretty quickly after filing their reports. Well all except the boy who had been burned. He was in rehab for months.” He hesitated for a moment, as if he didn’t want to jump to the only conclusion he possibly could. His eyes drifted back up to Taipa and Kaliske. “I had always hoped it was coincidence that they disappeared the same time you did. But it wasn’t. Was it?”

 

Taipa’s head lifted solemnly, her expression resolute, prepared to accept her fate. Parrish smiled at her. It took Stiles aback how genuine and caring the smile seemed to be.

 

“They were hunters, weren’t they,” he asked quickly. The group blinked at him in surprise as the question sunk in.

 

“You know about hunters,” Kaliska asked disbelievingly. Parrish nodded once, almost like a bow.

 

“I heard some stories from the others at the gathering. It didn’t take much to put two and two together. So, are you two werewolves too?”

 

Kaliska opened her mouth to answer, but Derek waved her off.

 

“Where are you getting this idea about werewolves? How do you know those men weren’t just regular hunters? Werewolves are a myth,” Derek assured a little too vehemently. Parrish’s eyes flickered back to Derek, as if he had forgotten the man was even standing literal inches in front of him.

 

“You’re not as observant as I thought,” Parrish snubbed lightly. To the shock of everyone in the room, the deputy began unbuttoning his shirt. With each button that popped open, another inch of thick shiny scar was revealed. By the time the shirt was pulled fully open, they were left with a perfect view of four parallel scars running from sternum to hip.

 

Stiles’ eyes widened at the all too familiar pattern. The four claw marks raked over Parrish’s surprisingly well-toned chest and stomach. It looked like an actual animal attack, striking at the underbelly where animals are softest. It was strange to think that people outside of Beacons Hills also dealt with werewolves. It was also a rude reminder that not all wolves were as gentle and friendly as his own.

 

A reverently whispered ‘Damn’ and a gentle smack broke Stiles’ from his trance. He turned to see Erica giggling at Boyd’s grumpy face while Isaac fought to hide his smirk. Kaliska also seemed to be chuckling at whatever Erica was laughing at, but her eyes were still fixed on Parrish’s bare stomach. He could just barely make out Boyd’s whispered reprimand, ‘Stop ogling the man, we don’t even know if he’s trustworthy or not yet’.

 

Stiles caught Scott’s eye and they both let out a slight chuckle. They really did have a wholly inappropriate pack. Laughter and objectification were not the reactions they should have in this situation.

 

“Thank you, ladies, I’m always happy to liven up a room,” Parrish said lightheartedly.

 

Derek didn’t seem to notice any of the conversation happening around him. His hand reached out involuntarily to trace the scars running down the deputy’s torso. He had felt the same wounds a number of times in his life, but they had always healed; he’d never seen how terrible they really looked. Parrish watched him amusedly, making no move to stop him. He didn’t seem nervous or bothered by the touch in the slightest. In fact, he seemed appreciative that Derek was taking the time to listen to him.

 

“I had a run in, after I started looking into Taipa’s case. I was tracking some known associates of the men who attacked her and stumbled into a hunt, apparently. I must have been mistaken for a hunter by whoever they were after,” he explained casually with a shrug of his shoulders. Derek startled at the movement and pulled his hand back. “I thought I was crazy at first. Thought there was no way I had seen what I saw. But the scars are my reminder that super human people are out there. And they’re not so bad.”

 

Parrish chuckled at the multiple scoffs that echoed through the air.

 

“Ok, so I walked away with some pretty battle scars, but the point is I walked away,” Parrish reasoned. “If they had wanted me dead, they would have killed me, especially with where they hit. If they’d have dug in just a little more, I’d have bled out.”

 

The pack stared at the deputy, surprise written on their faces. He seemed fearless. The hunters killed wolves just because they had the capacity to hurt people, yet here was Parrish, an actual survivor of an attack, who still saw good in the person who attacked him. It was obvious that the pack’s doubts were quickly diminishing.

 

“So what makes you think Derek is a…werewolf,” Isaac asked nervously. Parrish shrugged and began to button his shirt. A small whine of disappointment floated through the air, followed by a groan of irritation. This pack was ridiculous. Parrish laughed it off all the same.

 

“The sniffing was a bit of a clue. And the whole relationship he has with all of you. Not to mention the hearing.” The room fell silent again, waiting for the deputy to elaborate before agreeing with anything he said.

 

“After I got out of the hospital, I started researching. I was suspended from the force for a couple weeks for wandering off and chasing down a random lead way outside of my jurisdiction, so I had some time to find people and talk to them. I met some packs down south through this woman, uh, Marilyn, no Maureen? Wait, Marin, I think. Anyway the southern packs explained some of the issues they faced with hunters and the fact that the law couldn’t really help them. I mean they couldn’t exactly come out and say ‘Hey we’re being hunted by racists because we’re werewolves’. It probably wouldn’t go over so well. So I started looking for work there, thinking I could maybe help out a little.” He spoke as though it made perfect sense to help the same kind of people who had put him in the hospital. They had to admire his sense of honor and duty. He straightened his now buttoned shirt out and quickly glanced through the room, gauging the overall reaction, before continuing.

 

“Anyway, last year I started hearing about these animal attacks up north, little town I’d never heard of. No one could piece it all together. But then I saw that Argent woman’s obit, and her connection to a case that seemed a little too familiar. So I applied up here and by some sick twist of fate, a bunch of cops died a couple months later and I was practically begged to come up and start working. It’s actually pretty serendipitous that Taipa ended up here too,” he concluded.

 

The woman watched him, still cautious, but more open to his presence.

 

“I recognized the kid with the burns when we found you. He was the one from that first report,” he added quietly. “He tried to hurt you before, didn’t he? He and his friends tried to trap and burn you, didn’t they? He ended up that way because you were defending yourself.” There was no question left in his voice. He had pieced the rest of Kaliska’s story together based off of the Hale house fire case.

 

Taipa nodded again. Just once. Parrish sighed at the ground and settled his hands on his hips, giving him an oddly paternal, disapproving look.

 

“I’m sorry I let him get away,” Parrish whispered. Derek’s head snapped around, momentarily taking Parrish’s words as a confession to the very thing Stiles had suggested moments before the deputy had entered the hospital room. Parrish’s voice sounded rougher, like he was reprimanding himself, as he continued.

 

“I got sloppy. I figured back up was coming soon and he was wounded, so I went to check out the rest of the building. By the time I came back, he was gone. I ran out the hole in the wall, guessing he hadn’t gotten far. I thought I saw him leaning against a car in the alley, but someone knocked me on the head with one of the loose bricks. I blacked out before I could even see who. I should’ve waited for backup. It was a rookie mistake. I’m sorry.”

 

Stiles could smell the guilt drifting from the deputy as he looked up at Taipa with pleading eyes. The words sifted through his mind, slowly clicking into place. Someone other than Rey had knocked Parrish out. There was someone else out there.

 

“You guys got the other two though, right,” Stiles asked suddenly, pushing the thought of even more hunters hiding in town out of his mind. The deputy nodded, his mouth twisted into an equal parts unimpressed and disappointed expression. “So, go interrogate the shit out of them. Find out where Rey could’ve gone and who could be helping him! They have to know the same people.”

 

The deputy snapped up to attention and gave Stiles a long scrutinizing look. After a long moment, he smiled.

 

“You are just like your dad,” Parrish said as the door to the room opened and the noise of the hallway flooded in.

 

“Excuse me, deputy? Are you insinuating that I have the same ethics as this delinquent,” the sheriff asked jokingly as he shouldered into the overcrowded room. “Jeeze, we get any more people in here, we’re gonna have to start charging rent.”

 

“You always said you wanted me to make more friends,” Stiles teased. “I just happened to make some very clingy and supportive ones. Which is kind of the best kind of friend you can have really. I mean look at Scott. He’s the greatest. And he’s super supportive, and just the right amount of clingy.” Scott puffed up and beamed at Stiles’ compliment. The sheriff just shook his head as if this was nothing he hadn’t seen or heard before.

 

“I guess I did say that,” he admitted, absently running a hand through his hair. “Though I gotta say, I never expected this assortment.” His eyes lingered on Derek who was staring intently at the spot of dirt on the wall next to Stiles’ IV on the complete opposite side of the room as the sheriff.

 

“Anyway,” he continued, “Melissa pulled a favor and we’re checking you out early. You’re free to go home right now. So let’s get everyone out so you can get dressed, or not…”

 

Stiles had already hopped out of the bed and started pulling clothes out of the bag on the floor. The whole room was treated to a quick flash of his startlingly white butt before he slipped his underwear on.

 

“Stiles,” his father groaned, “Can you at least pretend I raised you to have some sense of decency?”

 

A chorus of “I don’t mind’s” bounced around the room, followed by raucous laughter.

 

“I guess you are all friends for a reason,” the sheriff chuckled. “Now sit down and wait for Melissa to come pull your IV before putting your shirt on.”

 

Stiles begrudgingly scooted back up onto the bed, letting his feet hang over the edge to scuff the floor. Scott skipped over and plopped down next to him, throwing an arm over his shoulders casually as they waited. The rest of the room sat quietly, eyes drifting around the room awkwardly, conversation effectively stemmed by the sheriff’s presence. Stiles noticed his father shifting nervously from foot to foot.

 

“What’s up pops? You look like you got something to say,” Stiles asked with mock nonchalance.

 

He was terrified that his dad was going to demand a real explanation for the pack being in the room with him, or for what had really happened over the last couple days. He really didn’t want to open up the whole can of worms about why these particular people were now with him at all times. And he especially didn’t want to explain the whole werewolf thing right now either, although his father was the only one in the room still out of that particular loop (or loup, Stiles thought to himself, laughing at his own punnery).

 

“Well,” the sheriff started with a strained exhale, “We’ve still got those two kidnappers in lockup…and I…you know what? Don’t worry about it. We need to get you home.” Stiles gave his father an unconvinced look.

 

“Dad, you can go interrogate the assholes who grabbed me. Anyone in this room can take me home and hang out until you get back. You’re only gonna be able to follow leads for so long and you’ve already wasted a day waiting for me to wake my lazy ass up.” The pack gave an eerily synchronized nod of agreement at the sheriff’s guilty expression.

 

“Watch your language,” he warned lightheartedly. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his son, waiting for Stiles to return the hug before squeezing tight, like he was afraid he wasn’t real.

 

Stiles breathed in deep, basking in the scent of family and home. He hoped he never got too old to hug his father because his dad gave the best hugs.

 

“Seriously dad,” he mumbled into his father’s shoulder, “go be super cop. Scott’ll get me home.”

 

His father pulled away slowly, taking a long look at Stile’s face.

 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from this. But I need to make it up to you by catching these bastards.” Stiles winced at the unshed tears slowly filling his father’s eyes. He would give anything to stop his father from feeling the way he did right then.

 

“It’s not your fault and you know it. Now go get Melissa so I can get out of here.” Stiles punched his father’s arm, a little gentler than he had meant to, and practically pushed him towards the door. The sheriff ducked out into the hallway.

 

“Alright,” Stiles said, commanding the attention of the entire room without really intending to, “Deputy, you want to prove you’re an ally? You stay with my dad. You help him interrogate, investigate, whatever, and keep us updated. You have Derek’s number.” Parrish nodded eagerly, seemingly excited to prove his worth. “But know this, if anything happens to him or you double cross us, I will personally see to it that your remains are never found.” The deputy stared back at Stiles, unsure whether he was serious or not. But the malicious look in Stiles’ eyes said he was 100% serious.

 

“You know you just threatened an officer, right?” Parrish wanted to break some of the tension and get some reassurance that they had some kind of confidence in him. But Stiles’ eyes remained empty of humanity as he growled out a response.

 

“I am well aware. But it wasn’t a threat; it was a promise.”

 

Scott pulled his arm back and shifted awkwardly away from Stiles. He could feel the pure rage boiling under the surface of his best friend’s skin. He had always known that Stiles had a protective streak, but it had never seemed this volatile before.

 

Parrish nodded seriously and slipped out of the room.

 

“That wasn’t very bright,” Derek said, finally rejoining the conversation. Stiles glared up at him, eyes still filled with malice.

 

“I refuse to let my father get hurt because of these assholes. He doesn’t even know what the hell is going on right now because up until a couple days ago, it was never my secret to tell. He’s working with half the information that Parrish has, so that means Parrish has to look out for him. Is it smart to threaten an officer? Probably not. But do I give one single, solitary fuck about your opinion right now? Not a fucking chance.” The words dripped from his tongue like venom, stinging at Derek’s pride.

 

The alpha’s eyes flared red and a low growl rumbled in his chest. He knew Stiles was upset, but no one in his pack had the right to talk to him like that. The pack stood back, holding their breath and waiting for the inevitable fallout. Scott was trying his hardest to morph into the bed sheets so he wasn’t the only living thing separating Derek from Stiles at the moment.

 

Stiles glowered back at Derek, his unblinking eyes slowly glowing amber. He could feel untapped anger and anxiety vibrating through his skin. He wasn’t really mad at Derek, but so much had happened recently and he hadn’t had proper time to adjust to it and he just needed to vent. He was probably sending some of that aimless anger Derek’s way through their bond without even meaning to. But now that he thought about the bond, he could actually feel some of his anger slipping through it. Shit. Their situation was about to get even worse.

 

The sound of approaching footsteps snapped them out of their impromptu staring contest. Derek’s eyes immediately shifted back to hazel, but Stiles’ refused to turn so quickly. He could feel them flickering dimmer and dimmer until they faded back to their normal honey brown.

 

Melissa popped into the room and immediately sensed the tension.

 

“How about you young people return all the chairs you’ve stolen while I get Stiles ready to leave,” she suggested calmly. The betas jumped into action, desperate to flee the tense room, but Derek just backed into the corner and continued to glare from the shadows.

 

“Taipa, Kaliska, I have your release papers here too. I assume you’re going to be staying with…” she turned back to glance at Derek who was doing his best Nosferatu impression in the shadows. Without shifting his eyes from Stiles’ face, he nodded once. “Great, so you’ll be staying with dark and gloomy over there. Don’t worry, I hear his loft is much nicer than he is.” Taipa smiled at Melissa’s easy demeanor. Kaliska laughed outright at the insult to Derek.

 

“I’m sure the others will be much more welcoming. If our time with them so far is anything to go by, they’re a pretty awesome group,” Kaliska said confidently. Melissa smiled back at her, a soft look in her eyes.

 

“They really are a good group. Even grumpy gills over there,” she added with a toss of her head. Kaliska laughed again as Melissa handed them their papers and they headed out into the hallway to find the others.

 

She turned to Stiles and quickly released him from his wire and IV prison, keeping a wary eye on Derek as she worked. Stiles’ attention flicked between Derek’s face and his sick curiosity about whatever Melissa was doing with that – yep, nope, that was a needle, a very, very long needle, slowly coming out of his vein, nope – His attention returned to Derek’s scowling face; it was better than watching a needle slowly extracted from his body. Soon enough Melissa was tossing away her gloves and signing the release papers.

 

“So, do I need to escort you out, Derek, or do you two need a minute to speak, in a civilized manner,” she asked pointedly. The alpha stepped out of the shadows, seemingly weighing the pros and cons of trying to threaten mama McCall. He decided against it and ended up standing in the middle of the room aimlessly.

 

“We need a minute to discuss something,” Stiles decided. Melissa gave them both a long glance before shrugging and slipping out into the hallway.

 

As soon as the door latched, Derek was in Stiles’ face, his hot breath streaming down his neck.

 

“I get that you’re confused and upset, but you do not talk to me like that. Ever. I am the alpha,” Derek hissed out, his eyes drilling into Stiles’.

 

Stiles could practically taste the words on his lips they were so close together. A nervous shiver ran down his spine. He could feel Derek’s anger and power bite at his skin like an electric shock. Fear and nerves and something he couldn’t quite place churned in his stomach as he stared down the alpha, refusing to submit.

 

Suddenly, the unknown feeling surged into the rest of his body, filling him with one thought, one motion, one desire: possess. His hands shot up, latching onto the side of Derek’s neck, holding his head in place with super human strength. Stiles eyes flared back to life, burning brighter than they ever had before. His voice came out half human and half purr when spoke.

 

“You may be an alpha, but you are mine.”

 

Stiles lurched forward, pulling Derek’s lips down to meet his own. Derek’s jaw hung open with surprise and Stiles took the opportunity to thrust his tongue into the alpha’s mouth, licking at everything he could reach, tasting every inch on the sweet, wet heat. He shifted his head for a better angle and sucked Derek’s tongue into his mouth, reveling in the unrefined flavor of Derek. He bit down on the velvety muscle, earning a squeak of outrage from the alpha before he started to massage Derek’s tongue softly.

 

A whine of unadulterated want bubbled up in Derek’s throat as he clawed at Stiles’ hospital gown, finally gathering enough mental acuity to fight back for control. He pulled back and licked a short stripe across Stile’s plump bottom lip before placing a swift kiss to either corner of his mouth. He could feel Stiles’ need reverberating through his skin as an animalistic whimper rang through the air. He dove back in, giving twice as good as he got, his hands winding up into Stiles’ thick hair.

 

He felt the urge to claim nudging his mouth further and further south, biting his way down Stiles’ jaw, licking each mark as he went. He sucked a trail of kisses into the boy’s long, pale, perfect neck; delighting in the uninhibited moans he pulled from Stiles’ throat. Stiles writhed against him, his hands still clamped around Derek’s throat, feeling the muscles twitch and stretch as Derek marked him all over.

 

Derek pulled down Stiles’ gown to expose his collarbone, vaguely recalling the visibility issue with his last mark. The soft, pure skin practically called to him, making his mouth water in anticipation.

 

“Fucking do it,” Stiles whined above him, pulling Derek’s face towards his exposed chest. Derek didn’t need any more encouragement than that. He lunged forward, sinking his teeth into the tender flesh. Stiles hissed out a steady stream of air as Derek’s teeth broke through the skin, filling his mouth with warm, coppery blood.

 

Derek had never grown accustomed to the taste of blood. He had tasted it often enough when he and Laura had been on the run, scavenging food in the woods as often as they could stomach it, but the taste of blood had always been a bit of a downer.

 

Until now.

 

Stiles’ blood coated his mouth with the pure taste and scent of Stiles. He lapped at the wound eagerly, chasing the flavor away with the taste of Stiles’ skin and sweat. He sucked at the mark, pulling the puncture into his mouth and kneading it with his tongue.

 

Stiles’ hand shot down to his crotch. He rubbed his palm into erection, unsure of whether he wanted it to go away, or to come. Derek’s tongue continued to work at his collarbone, pulling at the skin, kneading the muscle, sending sparks of pleasure through Stiles’ body. He vaguely wondered if his reaction was an instinctual thing or if he just had a blood kink. Either way, it felt amazing. All thoughts of anger and challenge drained out him, sucked down by Derek’s amazing mouth. He knew deep down that Derek was his, and he was obviously Derek’s. They didn’t need to fight, or posture, or argue. They just needed to be. Together.

 

He pulled Derek’s face back up and planted a wet, sloppy kiss to his lips before pulling away dazedly, wavering slightly on the bed.

 

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I’m not good at the whole stoic thing yet. I didn’t mean to challenge you. I guess I just don’t have that ‘follow or die’ instinct.”

 

Derek rested his forehead against Stiles’ and waited for his breath to catch up.

 

“You don’t have to,” he finally admitted. “You’re pack, but you’re not a beta. You’re my equal. You will never have to submit to me, if you don’t want to.”

 

Stiles pulled back, his face white with shock as Kaliska’s words in the cage flooded his mind. Mate. Derek was his mate. His mate? Really? That was a thing he was now going to believe in? He assumed he was Derek’s mate as well, based in the massive hickey that was slowly healing above his heart. Maybe mates weren’t so bad. Was it like a forever type deal? Because that might be a little heavy for high school. Whatever, he could deal with it later.

 

“Thanks,” he eventually said, sliding down off the bed to grab he shirt. His gown practically fell off thanks to the new claw marks running through the sleeves. Stiles quirked an eyebrow at Derek. The alpha looked down guiltily and coughed.

 

“I…got excited.” Stiles couldn’t help but laugh at Derek’s awkwardness as he pulled on his shirt.

 

“It’s okay, big guy. I think we both know I got excited too,” he said with a smirk. Derek’s eyes flicked down to Stiles crotch and back up almost instantaneously, a mischievous look in his eyes. “Ohmygod, no. We are so not taking care of it here. Jesus, do you remember what happened last time you touched my dick in public? I got knocked out and whisked away with a bag over my head.”

 

Derek frowned, his heavy eyebrows sinking into a mixture of regret and a pout. It was almost sweet how much Derek wanted Stiles’ dick. Weird, but sweet.

 

“Later, buddy. You can take me home and hang out until dad gets back. Actually that might work really well. Erica and Boyd can show the newbies around the loft, help them get settled in. And Scott and Isaac can go pump Allison, ugh already regretting that choice of words, for information about her crazy ass cousin. She should really check into her genealogy, see if there’s a history of mental illness because I gotta say, most of the Argents we meet are fucking batshit.”

 

Derek sighed at Stiles’ rambling, but had to admit he made sense.

 

“Alright, lets go tell the rest of them the game plan. Then we are getting you home and continuing where we left off,” Derek said determinedly, an almost imperceptible smile pulling at his lips.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIIIiiiiiiIVE!
> 
> So sort of bad-ish news...well, not bad-bad, just inconvenient. 
> 
> I just got a job (yay!), albeit a temporary one, but it's going to be taking up a very large portion of my time. And my weekends are pretty booked because everyone I know is getting married this month. So I will definitely TRY to keep up the once a week postings (most likely on weekends, as the past few weeks have been), but there may be some delay at times. I will try my hardest not to let things get backed up. If I do, send me shit. You have my permission to yell at me if I don't post anything within 9 days of my last posting. I won't get mad. Promise. 
> 
> And now, without further ado, the biggest, longest, most Sterek heavy chapter in the entire fic thus far! Enjoy!

Stiles sat, for the first time, in the passenger seat of his Jeep. His hands fidgeted absently while he continued to stare out the window, forcibly stopping himself from staring at Derek. The alpha was driving Roscoe surprisingly well, if Stiles was honest. His Jeep was not the newest vehicle on the road; it had a shit transmission, sticky gears, terrible breaks, and a suspension that had caused more than a few eggs to break on the way home from the grocery store. But it was Stiles’ baby, his one possession that made him special. It was his own little slice of freedom. And he had never let anyone else drive it, not even Scott. But Derek had seemed to pick up all of Roscoe’s little quirks without even trying; Stiles couldn’t even drive his Jeep as smoothly as Derek was.

 

“I kind of hate you right now,” Stiles mumbled at the window. He felt Derek stiffen next to him, the Jeep lurching to the left slightly as his arm locked. Stiles let out a small deprecating laugh at Derek’s insecurity. Which was probably a bit rude, but so was Derek.

 

“How is it that you’re better at handling my Jeep after two minutes than I am after two years,” Stiles asked faux-bitterly. “You drive a fine tuned, fine-ass, piece of high-tech machinery. This is a busted heap. It’s practically a jalopy. Don’t get me wrong, I love old Roscoe like he was a member of the family, but I can’t control him like this. Do alpha powers work on cars too?”

 

Stiles swore he heard a stifled chuckle come from the driver’s seat. He turned his head slowly, mouth hanging wide open in shock.

 

“He laughs? What is this witchcraft? Are you sick,” he asked facetiously.

 

Derek tore his eyes away from the road and turned his strongest scowl on him. Stiles sat perfectly still, a light flickering behind his wide eyes, a faint smile trying to break out on his face; the picture of feigned innocence. He stared back at Derek defiantly, fighting his own reflex to laugh. But the once scary scowl had somehow become adorable in the last few days. The downturned bushy caterpillar eyebrows called out to Stiles, begging to be stroked gently. The thin line of Derek’s pursed lips implored to be licked open and kissed. The taught muscles of his cheeks desperately sought to break their rigid frown and pull a smile across those dangerous, adorable bunny teeth. And his incomparable eyes, flecked with blue and green and gray, deserved to dance with light and happiness. 

 

Derek hissed in a breath, scowl falling from his face as Stiles bit at his lip to stop himself from laughing. He felt the pull of companionable desire reaching for him. He turned back to face the road as Stiles’ pupils grew wider, watching the blush creep up Derek’s neck. He couldn’t even pretend to scare Stiles anymore. It should have been embarrassing, belittling, but it mainly felt arousing. Stiles was finally seeing himself as Derek’s equal. He wasn’t afraid of him at all anymore.

 

They remained silent until the Jeep bumbled into Stiles’ driveway. As soon as the engine cut off, Derek noticed the quickening flutter of Stiles’ heart. He reached over and placed his hand comfortably over Stiles’ knee. The boy’s head snapped around to stare at him. A trace of fear fluttered behind Stiles’ eyes.

 

“What’s wrong? You seem antsy all of sudden,” Derek asked bluntly. Stiles scoffed animatedly, throwing his hands up in mock outrage.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he attempted unconvincingly. His other knee began to bounce ever so slightly as Derek’s scrutinizing gaze raked over him. He could feel the alpha trying to trace back through their connection to figure out what was really bothering him. It wasn’t any one thing, really. A lot had just happened in a very short amount of time and now he wasn’t sure what to do about any of it.

 

“I’m not going to ask you to do anything you’re not ready for,” Derek offered gently, hitting one of the many nails right on the head. Stiles huffed out a laugh.

 

“Uh, thanks, I guess. There’s just a lot of new stuff still happening right now and I’m a little overwhelmed by how out of my depth I am. Usually I research the shit out of everything to keep myself from freaking out over the unknown, but I’m starting to think all of this is unknown.” He wavered on the last word, the exhaustion of the last few days finally ringing through his voice.

 

Derek pulled his hand back, noting the almost imperceptible whine of loss that followed. He unbuckled Stiles’ seatbelt, then his own, and turned to face him fully.

 

“You’ve been through a lot. You still need rest. Your body heals now, which is great, but it takes a lot out of you. You’re gonna go inside and rest. I’ll make you something to eat, then we can…talk,” he offered begrudgingly, “about anything you need to, but then you’re taking a nap.” Stiles stared back at him for a moment, doubtfully.

 

“Since when do you coddle people? Hell, last time I brought you one of your injured betas, you broke her arm to make her heal and told her to get over it,” Stiles said bitterly. Derek frowned at the dashboard.

 

“That…was a different situation and you know it. You, you weren’t there after, when I took care of her,” Derek added quietly. He hated showing this kind of vulnerability, but if anyone deserved it, it was Stiles. “I don’t like hurting people. It’s just what had to be done. They were too soft. I know first hand what happens when you’re too soft.” His eyes drifted down to his hands, a look of disgust flashing across his face.

 

“You don’t think I’m soft?”

 

Derek looked up into Stiles’ stunned face, cringing inwardly at the self-conscious disbelief and stark need for affirmation. He shook his head.

 

“Not at all. You’ve been through more than most people could even attempt to handle. You’ve proven yourself stronger mentally, physically, and ethically than any of us. You don’t need training. You just need…support.” Derek looked down again, silently berating himself for the mistakes of his past, as a beta and an alpha.

 

“Huh. I guess we could’ve been a bit more supportive of you in the past too,” Stiles admitted surprisingly. Derek blinked back at him, unsure of how the conversation had turned to him. Stiles smiled at his obvious confusion. “You’ve been through a lot too, man. More than I have even. And all I’ve ever done is step on your toes and accuse you of terrible things. I mean sure you were a bit of a dick when we first met, and not a lot has changed to be honest, but you were probably scared shitless when you got back here. I’m just sorry I didn’t realize until now.”

 

Derek didn’t know how to react. Parts of him were offended at being called a dick and a coward. But other parts were relieved that someone finally knew that he was scared, was still scared, still didn’t know what he was doing half the time. And another more hidden part, that he wasn’t aware existed, was soaring at the idea of Stiles being his support system. His eyes met Stiles’ finally and they both smiled cautiously at one another, still unsure what everything between them meant, but relieved that they were at least able to discuss it. His wolf grumbled in his mind, desperate for physical assurance, desperate to feel Stiles’ support. Derek swallowed down the instinct to lean forward and nuzzle into his neck

 

“Ok,” Stiles said jovially with a clap of his hands, “I remember something about food and napping, possibly even mutual napping, and that is suddenly sounding like a brilliant idea.” He nodded towards the house. “You wanna head in instead of sitting in the driveway like creepers?”

 

Derek huffed out a forced laugh and popped his door open without another word, glad for the distraction from his wolf. He followed Stiles into the house, keeping a respectable distance behind him…until they were safely behind closed doors.

 

Once the door latched behind him, Derek’s wolf took over. He reached forward and wrapped his hand around Stiles’ wrist before he could stop himself, spinning him on the spot to face him. Stiles stared up at him with bright eyes, the combined scents of confusion and arousal wafting from his body. Derek felt the wolf push him forward, bending his neck down to rest his face in the crease of Stiles’ neck. The boy stood still, unsure of how to react.

 

Derek nosed his way up Stiles’ long smooth neck, breathing in the comforting scent of honeysuckle and letting his wolf wrap into a content ball in his chest. He knew he was making Stiles nervous, but he just needed to feel his touch, just for a moment. He needed to pretend Stiles was able to protect him, pretend he was willing to protect someone like him. He could feel Stiles’ pulse tripping rapidly under his fingertips, which were still wrapped around the boy’s frail wrist. He was scaring him. He sighed miserably into Stiles’ neck and pulled back, releasing his wrist as he moved.

 

To Derek’s ultimate surprise, the wrist he had just released pressed forward and long slender fingers wound into his. Stiles’ other hand reached up and nudged Derek’s head back onto his shoulder. Derek melted into him, letting his weight sag against Stiles and the boy’s short nails raked through his hair gently. He felt Stiles tilt his neck to rub his cheek across the top of his head, breathing deeply as he did so. It felt like home.

 

Stiles felt the energy drain out of the man in his arms. He could smell the contentedness drifting off of him as he leaned further into his touch. A smile played across his lips as a low, rumbly purr reverberated through Derek’s chest.

 

“You’re allowed to need help too, you know,” he whispered into the alpha’s hair. He still wasn’t sure how, but he could tell that Derek needed to hear those exact words. Whatever the bond between them was, it seemed to open not only their feelings, but thoughts as well. It was strange, after being unable to understand Derek for so long, he was now able to literally read his mind.

 

Derek stayed there tucked against Stiles’ side for a long moment, simply letting the overwhelming sense of security wash over him. He didn’t know why he felt insecure in the first place, but in that moment, Stiles just felt right.

 

After another moment, he pulled away, slowly.

 

“Sorry, I don’t know why I needed to do that. It just felt…right,” he said. It was the best and most honest explanation he could give. Stiles smiled at him.

 

“I know what you mean. I’ve been feeling so much random crap lately that I can’t even figure out what’s coming from me and what’s coming from the fox. It all just blurs together.” Derek deflated at Stiles’ words. So Stiles wasn’t even sure if what he felt was actually his own feelings. That complicated their situation even further. Whatever this strange thing they had going on was, if it was the fox pushing Stiles into it, he had to call it off. Stiles seemed to follow his train of thought a little too well.

 

“Dude, don’t even, you know I’ve always found you like ridiculously attractive. Scary attractive even; in that you are insanely scary and insanely attractive,” Stiles blundered out. He stopped and took a breath to settle himself. Derek just watched him with blank eyes, hiding the hurt and hope that both threatened to break the surface at any moment. “Ok, so I maybe didn’t realize how much I liked you until recently. And I may never know if it was my own genuine, 100% Grade-A Stiles’ brand epiphany, or a more animalistically inclined realization, but I am positive that human me is way turned on by human/werewolf you. Like not even joking, even the fangs and sideburns do it for me.”

 

Derek blinked. Stiles fidgeted in the awkward silence, his eyes staring down at the floor like it was made of the most interesting mosaic tile in the universe.

 

“You’re not the first guy I’ve ever liked,” he admitted bashfully. “I mean, if you’re worried about this being some weird experimental phase or something, it’s not like that. I kinda figured out last year that I may, uh, play for both teams.”

 

Derek blinked again. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. He knew he liked Stiles. He knew they were connected. He knew that Stiles, human Stiles, actual Stiles, was attracted to him. He just felt like there was some piece missing before he decided to officially say ‘Screw the law’ and dive into their…relationship…wholeheartedly.

 

“You said we could talk, about stuff I’m unclear on,” Stiles started again, reeking of nervousness. “So um, what do you know about m–mates?”

 

Derek nearly fell backwards against the entryway. As soon as the word passed Stiles’ lips, he knew it was the one piece he needed to resolve. He had figured out last week that he and Stiles were mated, but he had no idea how much Stiles had figured out. The boy looked up at him, his face open and expectant. Derek tried to force down the blush he could feel spreading to his cheeks.

 

“I don’t know everything about foxes, but wolves will mate for life if they find the right person,” Derek stumbled out. He was trying to keep his composure, but trying to explain mates in a way that wouldn’t startle Stiles was essential and he wasn’t sure he was up for it. Subtlety had never been his strong point.

 

“How do they know they found the right person,” he asked curiously. Derek breathed in the sweet honeysuckle scent of Stiles and let it wrap around him. He could practically imagine his wolf rolling in the scent, coating itself happily in the smell of Stiles, its mate.

 

“It’s usually instinctual. Wolves can feel a false connection if they’ve been alone for too long. Well, it’s not that it’s false, it is a connection, but it’s not always a true match. It’s like the difference between a great couple and…soul mates.” Stiles seemed to consider the words carefully.

 

“So like, the difference between Scott and Allison, and Boyd and Erica?” Derek eyed him nervously. He wasn’t sure which pair Stiles thought were soul mates. Luckily Stiles clarified. “Like Scott and Allison are great and they love each other in a sickeningly sweet way. But Boyd and Erica just seem like they were made for each other. They even smell different when they’re together. It’s like their scents multiply and mix into a whole new version of them.”

 

Derek nodded in agreement. He was well aware of the scent Stiles described. He had first noticed it at that first lacrosse practice, when Boyd had been able to pick out Erica’s scent from the entire schools’.

 

“How do you know when two people are mated?”

 

“They claim each other. Typically with a bite,” Derek rushed out quietly, hoping Stiles would gloss over the connection. The boy shuffled for a moment before continuing.

 

“So are we mated? Because of what happened in the woods?”

 

It was the question Derek was dreading. He didn’t want to lie and he didn’t want to scare Stiles; he had already been through so much. But Stiles deserved the truth. He nodded incrementally, avoiding Stiles’ gaze at all costs.

 

“Ok,” he said easily. “What makes finding a mate so great?”

 

Derek froze in disbelief.

 

Stiles couldn’t accept it that easily, could he? He searched the boy’s face, reached out through their connection for any feeling of fear or anxiety. He found nothing. He stopped and thought for a moment before explaining.

 

“A mated pair is stronger than a lone wolf. It’s like the boost you get from being in a pack, only it’s tied to one person within that pack. Some of the older mated pairs I’ve met said they could sense their mate wherever they were. Others said they could hear them, in their minds. I’m not sure how serious they were, but it seems as likely as anything else I’ve come across.”

 

Stiles was staring at Derek now. He bit at his lips as he processed the information.

 

“Did any of them say they could feel what their…mate felt,” Stiles asked anxiously.

 

Derek shook his head.

 

“None that I ever met.” Stiles’ concentration turned into a frown.

 

“So why can I feel what you feel?”

 

Derek’s eyes snapped to Stiles’ face, searching for something before flicking back to the ground.

 

“I don’t know. But I…can feel it too. I think it’s coming from you. I don’t think I could do it with anyone else,” he confessed quietly. Stiles’ eyes shifted back to floor as he thought.

 

“In the cage, with Lis…I took her pain, I think. But it wasn’t like physical pain. It was like I took her sadness away, the same way you would take pain.” Derek’s eyes searched his face again, trying to figure out what it meant. “I think, I mean I’ll have to ask Lis, but I think foxes are empaths. It would explain being able to feel each other’s emotions at least.”

 

Derek considered him. It did make sense, and he really didn’t know a lot about foxes. If wolves could take physical pain, why couldn’t foxes take emotional pain? And if true mated wolves could feel each other’s physical or mental presence wherever they were, maybe a true mated fox could sense its mates feelings wherever it was. He still couldn’t believe Stiles was handling it so well. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his chest; he had a mate, a true mate.

 

“It does make sense.”

 

“Huh. Well that is kinda cool. I mean, look how awesome we are as a pair? You can take away the ouch and I can take the sad. We’re like walking crack,” Stiles said excitedly.

 

Derek shook his head fondly.

 

“So you’re okay with us being mated,” he asked quickly before he lost his nerve. Stiles shrugged at him.

 

“I mean, sure why not? It’s obvious we’re connected, since just being in the same space as you makes me calmer. And I obviously like you. And you begrudgingly like me. So why fight it? If nature wants us to be together, I’m up for it.” Derek felt his heart swell with affection for his amazing mate.

 

He had rebelled at the idea of mates when he was younger. He had been so sure that he and Kate were meant to be, even without any of the typical signs, even without feeling even 1/100th of the way he felt for Stiles. He had written the whole idea of mates off as folklore; another fairytale his parents told him so he would behave. But then Stiles came along. His wolf realized what it wanted, what it had been waiting for. And here he was, embracing the role, accepting it without question. This was what a true mate should feel like. This was what he had been missing all those years. 

“I mean, it’s not like we’re the ‘forever’ type, right,” Stiles joked.

 

Derek’s heart stopped. Stiles hadn’t known after all. His eyes ripped away from Stiles’ face, scouring the hall for anything to keep his attention, to keep him from scaring Stiles away.

 

But Stiles was too smart for that. He could feel the terror running through Derek. His eyes widened in shock.

 

They were the forever type. He and Derek were mated, for life.

 

Stiles’ knees buckled as the weight of the realization hit him. Derek’s arms shot out to hold him up, sending sparks through Stiles’ body where their skin touched. He pulled out of Derek’s grasp, throwing himself back against the wall for support.

 

Derek backed off, holding his hands out helplessly, a look of pained betrayal taking over his face.

 

“Sorry,” Stiles blurted out. “I just, I need to…I need to think. I need to…lay down. I’m gonna go, I’m gonna go lay down and think.” He shuffled along the wall until he hit the stairs. He gave Derek one last panicked look before darting up to his room and slamming the door.

 

Derek stood in the entryway, heartbroken and lost, silently berating himself for being so stupid. How could he have expected Stiles to be happy with him? How could someone like Stiles ever be happy with someone like him? He was a failure, a mess with a trainload of baggage. Of course Stiles wouldn’t want to be stuck to him. 

 

He hung his head and made his way into the kitchen. Even if his mate didn’t want him, he could still take care of him. He opened the fridge and began rummaging for lunch meat and bread, swallowing down the bile that rose in his throat and holding back the pitiful tears that threatened to spill from his suddenly sore eyes.

 

\---

 

Stiles leaned back against his door and stared down at his rock hard erection in disbelief. As soon as Derek had touched him, as soon as those electric sparks had shot through his skin, all of his blood had headed south, rapidly. He still wasn’t sure if his knees had actually buckled or if he had just gotten light headed from his blood draining too quickly.

 

What the hell was his body doing? Derek dropped a bombshell on him and his dick decided that was the best time to come out and play? No. He needed time to think. He tried to will the blood back to his brain, but his cock just twitched cheerfully at him, ignoring the pained expression on his face. He could smell the pain rolling off of Derek in waves from the kitchen, the faintest pinch of sadness drifting across their bond.

 

Their mate bond. Was that even the name for it? Derek had said it was a new kind of bond; that meant Stiles could call it whatever he wanted. Mate bond was way too heavy, he decided. He choose to call it a stargate instead. It worked kind of like a wormhole, right? Except with emotions. Whatever, he could rename it later, at least his brain was starting to work again, even though his erection was going nowhere. He gave his uncooperative dick an angry glare before deciding he actually needed to lie down.

 

Stiles threw himself onto his bed, breathing in the freshly laundered sheets, trying desperately to block out the scent of Derek’s misery. His mind was swirling from everything he’d learned over the past few hours: Kaliska’s whole history, him being Derek’s mate, Rey’s twisted past which mirrored Kate so closely it was sickening, Derek being his mate, Parrish’s confusing path to redemption, he and Derek being mates, being able to steal other people’s feelings and heal bullet wounds, Derek and him being attached forever, his dad still being out of the loop, Derek was his mate, forever... No matter what he tried to focus on, that one thought consistently pushed against the front of his mind, and at the fly of his pants.

 

He and Derek were mates. Official, all the way, forever, mates. They could sense more about each other than any of the other true mates Derek had met, ones who had grown old together and developed those abilities over years of being with each other. They had a stargate. Man, he really needed to come up with a better name for that.

 

The sound of Derek’s steady heartbeat drifted up the stairs, echoing in Stiles’ mind louder than his thoughts. He shouldn’t have run, he should have stayed and talked it out. So he and Derek were expected to be together forever, that wasn’t so bad was it? He could handle it. No one said they had to get married and move in together right away or anything. He could still live his life, go away to college, get a job in the city, travel, leave Derek behind while he explored the world.

 

Stiles’ stomach twisted into knots. Even the thought of leaving Derek was making him sick. He had thought the soul crushing desire he had felt lately was because Derek was, well Derek: a gorgeous specimen of (literal) alpha maleness with the broody demeanor of James Dean and the raw sexuality of Colin Farrell. But apparently that feeling was a result of the… claim they had laid on each other.

 

Wait. This was his own fault, wasn’t it? They had claimed each other, willingly. Hadn’t they? His dick twitched eagerly at the memory, starting to leak just enough to make his pants feel too awkward to wear. His hands drifted down to undo the zip, just to let some air in, he told himself. Did the claim mean that Derek felt as strongly about him as he did about Derek? He couldn’t fathom someone like Derek ever willingly being into him, let alone attaching themselves to him for eternity. His heart beat wildly in his chest at the idea of growing old with Derek. His dick pulsed in agreement. It suddenly felt like the best idea he’d ever had.

 

A light knock at his door startled him. He jumped up from his bed, tripping on the blankets that had slid onto the floor and just barely catching himself before he face-planted into the carpet.

 

“I made you a sandwich. I’ll leave it out here so you can get it when you want it. There’s a can of Dr. Pepper too.” Even through the muffling door, Derek’s voice rang through Stiles room, wrapping around him, caressing his skin as he spoke.

 

A swell of affection filled his chest, desire coiling in his stomach. His mate was taking care of him, providing for him. He could feel the fox purring, rubbing its soft edges against the inside of Stiles’ mind at the thought of Derek protecting him. He was achingly hard as Derek’s scent seeped into the room through the cracks around the door.

 

Stiles’ heart began to race, his instincts taking over. He wanted Derek to touch him, taste him, fuck him into the mattress; he wanted his mate to claim him over and over again until there was no doubt in anyone’s mind who he belonged to. The image of Derek, bare and vulnerable, holding him down and pounding into him flashed through his mind. His hand shot down, grinding his palm into to his leaking dick. He wasn’t going to be able to think straight until he took care of it.

 

The sound of Derek’s retreating footsteps stopped suddenly. Shit. Could Derek tell how gone he was? A wave of desire punched into him at the thought of Derek and his hips thrust forward against his control, seeking friction, seeking heat. Seeking Derek.

 

“Fuck it,” Stiles gritted out as his hands fumbled with his jeans. His pants and boxers were thrown down to his thighs and he had a hand wrapped around his throbbing erection, finally, before he even finished the thought. A hiss of pleasure escaped him while tiny sparks of pleasure lit all over his body. He gave a quick tug, eyes falling shut as he reveled in the delicious heat spreading through his abdomen. He sucked in a breath and caught a quick taste of Derek’s scent on the back of his tongue, instantly making his mouth water.

 

“Fffffuck, Derek.” The words came out in a whisper; part curse, part prayer. He stumbled forward and crawled onto his bed, legs no longer capable of holding his weight. He knelt at the edge, bending in on himself as his arm jerked forward and back, the heady scent of his own arousal clouding his mind. He worked his hand furiously, twisting his wrist, sending fiery tendrils of desire through his chest. The telltale tension in his balls told him his orgasm was already close as sweat broke out over his skin, leaving him glistening in the afternoon sun streaming through the open window. His hips kept giving small involuntary thrusts, begging for more, searching for something hotter, wetter, deeper to bury into.

 

Through the haze of his own lust and the gasping of his breath, he absently noted the sound of his door latch opening. But the impending orgasm, building in his body like a rubber band stretched to its breaking point, snapped his mind back to the matter at hand; mainly the dick in his hand. A new jolt of pleasure pulsed through him as his back arched hard, changing his grip to something looser, more teasing.

 

Suddenly there were hands palming his ass, running up under his shirt, leaving feather-light caresses along his skin as if afraid to touch, afraid of being turned away. Stiles’ skin sang to life wherever the rough fingers lingered, his fox begging for more. He arched up into the touch, knowing without looking that it was Derek. He could hear the alpha’s ragged breath stutter out of him as Stiles keened under his hands. His head fell forward, his hips rocking back into Derek’s hands.

 

“Fuck, Derek, I need, I have to, I need y-.” His words were cut off as Derek’s hand wrapped around his hips, lifting him further onto the bed. Stiles fell forward, hands shooting out to brace himself. The mattress dipped as the alpha climbed on behind him, the scent of his desire suddenly overwhelming Stiles’ own. Derek’s hands ran over the smooth swell of Stiles’ ass, pulling a soft moan from the boy’s lips.

 

Derek gently spread Stiles’ cheeks, revealing the tight pucker between them. He leaned in close, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin. Stiles bucked at the sensation, breath stopping in his throat. This was actually happening.

 

“Can I,” Derek asked shakily, still unsure of his welcome. Stiles nodded frantically, head hung between his shoulders. He watched his own precome drip onto the sheets below him. From his position, on his hands and knees, he could just make out Derek’s mouth in the space between his legs. The sight sent a shiver up his spine. It felt right.

 

Derek’s tongue stretched out to lick an experimental strip across Stiles’ hole.

 

“Ahh,” Stiles cried out, head jolting up in surprise. It felt strange, almost intrusive, but in a good way. Derek blew gently across the wet strip causing the muscle to flutter open and closed. He leaned in close again, his scruffy beard scratching at Stiles’ sensitive thighs. His tongue circled the entrance once before flattening out and massaging the muscle with a rolling motion.

 

Stiles dropped to his elbows as a constant stream of swears tumbled from his lips.

 

“Holy fucking hell, shitting Christ that is, goddammit Der-, what are you even doing to me, jesus, god, fuck.” On and on he rambled as Derek’s fingers dug into his soft ass and his tongue lapped at the sensitive ring of muscle.

 

Suddenly Derek pulled back.

 

“What, please god, Derek don’t stop no-OOOH.” Stiles yelped as Derek drove his tongue directly through the puckered entrance. Stiles mewled as the wet muscle wiggled into his ass, opening him up, presenting him to Derek.

 

His arms gave out and his shoulders dropped to the mattress, forcing his face into the bundled sheets below him. His moans and whines filled the air, along with the wet, slurping sound of Derek enthusiastically eating his ass. He reached under himself blindly and wrapped a hand around his aching dick, running his fingers first through the actual pool of precome he had leaked onto the bed.

 

Derek noticed the movement and pulled back to survey the sight before him. Stiles was face down in the mattress, jeans framing his succulent ass perfectly, knees propping it high up in the air as if he were presenting himself to Derek. His dick hung rigid and heavy between his legs, a hand desperately trying to pull him to climax.

 

A feral smile pulled at Derek’s lips. He leaned back down and licked a long, sloppy stripe up the underside of Stiles’ balls all the way to his open, inviting hole. The boy hissed into the bedding; his hips dipped forward, desperately searching for friction.

 

Derek had an idea. He popped his thumb into his mouth and wrapped his tongue around it, being careful to cover the digit with saliva. He pulled it out with a slick, wet pop and pressed it against Stiles’ hole, applying the lightest pressure he could manage, letting Stiles decide whether he wanted to accept it into his body or not. Stiles opened for him immediately, swallowing the digit whole.

 

Stiles pushed back into Derek’s hand, silently begging for more. He had had his own fingers in himself once or twice, but Derek felt completely different; his fingers were wider, more calloused, more delightful. Stiles rolled his rips, feeling Derek’s thumb pull at his hole as it pushed in and out. The motion was perfect, but the sensation wasn’t enough. He had been on the edge for so long it was starting to hurt. He needed more. Every nerve ending burned within him, calling out to his mate, begging for him.

 

Suddenly, without even removing his thumb, Derek flipped over. His back landed on the bed between Stiles’ knees with a bounce. Stiles’ dick practically slapped him in the face, and probably would have if Stiles weren’t still awkwardly holding it. Derek batted his hand away and quickly replaced it with his mouth, sucking the swollen head into the wet, delicious heat.

 

Stiles flat out screamed into the bedding as the wet, slick heat of Derek’s mouth ripped his orgasm from him. Hot seed shot down Derek’s throat as Stiles’ hole clenched helplessly around his thumb. His hips stuttered forward, pushing his dick further into the alpha’s mouth, feeling the sticky wetness of his own seed pillowed on Derek’s tongue. Jesus, just the thought of it made him want to come all over again.

 

Derek lapped at the sensitive flesh resting in his mouth, eliciting tiny whines from the boy above him. Stiles was getting to that overly sensitive point where Derek’s actions would start to do more harm than good now that he had climaxed, but the alpha wanted to push him as far as he could before relinquishing the delectable taste and feel of, just Stiles. He let Stiles pull back, sucking lightly until the boy’s softening dick slipped out of his mouth with a loud slurp. He pulled his hand back gently, letting Stiles release his thumb on his own before the boy fell sideways onto the mattress.

 

Stiles lay still for a moment, gasping in breath, taking stock of his liquefied limbs. Energy buzzed under his skin like lightning waiting to strike. He felt like Jello, mixed with PopRocks.

 

“How in the hell,” he gasped out suddenly into the too-quiet room, “did I ever get by on my own? Jesus I have never come that hard in my life.” He could feel Derek’s pride radiating through their stargate. Shit, he REALLY needed to rename that.

 

Stiles sat up quickly, surprised that his body was capable of completing the motion without bones. He dove forward before Derek could stop him and fumbled the alpha’s pants wide open. Derek’s swollen dick practically jumped out of his open fly, standing at attention just for Stiles, nestled into a thick bush of dark black hair.

 

“Stiles, you don’t have to,” Derek started, clearly hating himself for being a gentleman, but offering just the same.

 

“Right, like I’m gonna get three amazing orgasms from you over the past week and leave you with nothing to show for it. Now shut up and enjoy yourself for once.”

 

Stiles yanked Derek’s pants down his leg. Derek shifted to look at him, surprised by the sudden display of strength. He immediately regretted the decision however, because the sight of Stiles staring hungrily at his dick was almost too much for him to handle. His head dropped back onto the mattress and he focused on his breathing, hoping he would be able to hold on longer than a few seconds at that point.

 

Stiles stared down at Derek’s dick, finally taking the time to appreciate the full view. He was a little shorter than Stiles, but he made up for it in girth. Stiles was beginning to wonder if he would even be able to fit it in his mouth, let alone his ass at any point. The thought sent a feeble twitch through his dick, already gearing up for round two. Derek’s foreskin was pushed back, resting just beneath the glistening head. Stiles didn’t know why, but he found the idea of foreskin fascinating, he always had.

 

He leaned down, trying to keep his courage up, and licked experimentally at Derek’s slit. His eyes flicked up to the alpha’s face, watching for some kind of sign, but Derek’s eyes were glued to the ceiling, his face impassive. Stiles took a deep breath and tried again. He placed a kiss to the base of Derek’s cock, trailing his lips up gently until he reached the head. Out of curiosity, he sucked the bundled foreskin into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.

 

The sound of ripping fabric caught his attention. He looked up to see Derek’s claws tearing long gashes into his sheets, his wild eyes blazing red. Huh. Apparently he was doing something right. A smile teased his lips as he leaned back down and circled the head with his tongue, alternating between a point and a flat surface. The taste of Derek’s precome lingered on his lips. It wasn’t unlike his own when he thought about it. Stiles was a healthily curious teenager, of course he had tried his own once or twice. The salty, bitter flavor mixed with the concentrated smoky pine scent created the ultimate experience of Derek.

 

Stiles nosed down into the nest of curly hair, breathing in the rich scent of his mate. The strong feeling of home Derek’s scent always seemed to hold seeped into him and held him close as he basked in the alpha’s musk.

 

He pulled back suddenly, remembering his main objective with a firm shake of his head. It was now or never, he decided, flexing his neck side to side and giving his jaw a good stretch. He opened wide and sank down over the head. A gasp of pleasure burst from the alpha’s lips as his hips stuttered. Stiles could tell he was trying not to overwhelm him, but hell it was a little past that point, wasn’t it? The head fit comfortably in his mouth, so he decided to try a little more. He made sure his lips were firmly in place over his teeth before pushing down further, letting the thickness of Derek stretch his mouth wider.

 

Derek’s hand ended up between his teeth, blood dripping down his wrist as his teeth dug in, using his entire strength (of body and mind) to hold back. Stiles had half of Derek’s dick in his mouth and was rolling his tongue along it as enthusiastically as he could. Derek’s hips bumped up suddenly, forcing Stiles to pull off with a cough.

 

“Shit. How do you do this? I can barely get anywhere before I’m choking like a wimp,” Stiles grumbled. Derek reached down and wound his hand into Stiles’ hair soothingly, preening as Stiles nuzzled into the touch.

 

“Use your hands,” Derek choked out. He had never admitted it, but he had been fantasizing about Stiles hands long before they became mates. Hell he had been fantasizing about those hands since he met Stiles.

 

Stiles frowned back at him, sullen that he had been demoted to a handjob. A laugh bubbled out of Derek’s chest, surprising both of them.

 

“Use both if you want, but don’t choke yourself. I really don’t want to have to explain that one to your father,” he said lightheartedly. Stiles slapped at his hip.

 

“Way to ruin the mood, asshole,” he chastised, but he laughed anyway. Derek’s eyes darkened over with lust as Stiles turned his attention back to his dick.

 

Cautiously, he wrapped one hand around the base, his long fingers circling Derek’s girth better than even Derek could. He gave a small tug, watching the skin move under his light grip curiously. The tiniest drop of precome spurted from Derek’s slit, drawing Stiles attention. His mouth dropped over the head again, tongue lapping at the bead. Derek’s stomach fluttered under him, clearly approaching orgasm. Stiles pulled off with a pop and released Derek altogether.

 

Derek began to make a noise of contention, but was silenced as Stiles ran his tongue all over the alpha’s cock, making it nice and slick. His hand wrapped around him again, jerking up and down quickly, his eyes watching Derek’s face for clues.

 

“Tighter,” Derek gasped out as waves of pleasure crashed over him.

 

Stiles smirked as he tightened his grip and pumped faster. Derek couldn’t stop the moans that escaped his lips with every pull. Stiles lips found their way back to the head and he began to suck in earnest, all while his hand worked furiously, pulling Derek’s orgasm closer and closer to the surface.

 

Derek’s hand shot down in warning as his climax reached the breaking point. He tried to pull Stiles off of him, but the boy swatted his hand away stubbornly and sucked even harder.

 

The orgasm punched out of Derek, knocking the air from his lungs and bucking his hips wildly off the bed. Stiles swallowed him down, taking him further into his mouth than he had managed before, wet heat coating Derek’s dick as he emptied into his mate’s throat. His hand continued to work the shaft slowly, milking the orgasm to its full potential as Derek writhed on the bed, sated in the knowledge that he had made his mate happy and that his mate obviously wanted him to be happy too.

 

Stiles continued to swallow, making sure Derek's dick was immaculate before pulling off with a theatrical flourish. The alpha sprawled back on the mattress, dead to the world for all intents and purposes. It was comforting to know that Stiles could have that effect on someone like Derek. He stalked up the length of the alpha’s body on hands and knees, placing random kisses to his skin where his shirt had rucked up. As he reached Derek’s neck, he decided to try something; he bit down over the Adam’s apple. Derek didn’t flinch, he didn’t even shift, he made no move to defend himself at all. He trusted Stiles. The knowledge was intoxicating. Here was a man who hadn’t been able to trust anyone in years, who actively avoided forming bonds with people so he wouldn't get burned again, and yet he was openly letting Stiles bite at his most vulnerable spot.

 

Stiles crawled up further until he was looking down into Derek’s glossed over eyes. There was a light in them now, a light that had been missing far too long. He leaned down to slot his lips over his mate’s, but was stopped by Derek’s hand pressing into his chest.

 

“Don’t. I just had my tongue in your ass. Let me at least rinse,” Derek said sagely. Stiles, not being one to be denied his mate (now that he had one), just shrugged and leaned down to kiss him anyway. As soon as their lips met Derek’s hand were all over Stiles’ body, massaging the solid lines of muscles that were always hidden from the world under layers and layers of baggy clothing. Sometimes Derek hated that Stiles hid his body from everyone. But that meant he, alone, got to enjoy it, and he couldn't hate anything about that.

 

The kiss lasted a long moment, unhurried, unpracticed, simply there. They both relished the flavor of the other on their lips, the feel of each other’s mouths, the mixing of their scents in the air and bedding around them. Their satisfaction seemed amplified by the open bond between them, leaving them both almost paralyzed by their combined happiness.

 

Stiles pulled away slowly, eyes barely opening to stare down into Derek’s open, trusting face. He was truly breath taking.

 

“So,” Derek’s voice rumbled out, much deeper than usual, “how about that nap?”

 

Stiles chuckled lightly as he straightened out on the bed beside Derek. They simultaneously decided they would be more comfortable in just underwear and shirts (purely for comfort's sake, no ulterior motives involved, not a single one, and Stiles would continue swearing that to the grave). Nonetheless there were soon two pairs of jeans tangled together on the floor at the foot of the bed.

 

Stiles leaned back from throwing his socks over the edge of the bed to see Derek settled in on the far side of the mattress, facing out towards the window. His face fell at the distant, almost defensive position; he had kind of hoped they would cuddle. That’s what you were supposed to do after sex, wasn’t it? Maybe guys didn’t do that. Or more likely, maybe Derek didn’t do that. He couldn’t help but feel a little let down as he settled into the empty spot next to him, mimicking the alpha’s position perfectly, but leaving a clear space between them. Sleep pulled at him, dragging his heavy eyelids down as he drifted off. 

 

Just before he went under completely, he was startled awake. The mattress creaked and bounced as Derek shifted back across the bed, slowly closing the distance Stiles had left between them. The alpha reached back for Stiles’ hand and laced their fingers together before wrapping Stiles’ arm over him and nestling back against his chest. Stiles smiled into his pillow as a surge of warm affection flowed through him. Apparently Derek was a cuddler after all. He pulled the man back tighter until their bodies were lined up flush from chest to toes. He took a chance and draped his leg over Derek’s, prepared to play it off as a joke if he seemed uncomfortable, but secretly hoping he would melt into the clingy octopus pose. The alpha froze in his arms. Stiles waited, terrified that he had somehow pushed too far, asked for too much, too soon. Derek let out a long, low breath, as if coming to a decision before squeezing Stiles’ hand tighter and awkwardly wrapping his foot over Stiles’ ankle. Stiles couldn't help but let out a short giggle as he wiggled against Derek, testing the effectiveness of their impromtu leg lock. Needless to say, neither of them was going anywhere for a while.

 

The room fell silent, apart from the soft slow breaths coming from the bed as the two fell asleep, comforted by the scent and feel of being wrapped up in each other. It would turn out to be the best sleep either of them had had in years.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I'm late. I know. I'm sorry. This one's a little shorter, but I already have the next one ready, so that'll probably go up Sunday to make up for my shitty timing. Thank you all for sticking with me. It's been a hell of a busy week and it's only going to get worse, but I hope to keep going. This fic is actually kind of cathartic in a way. 
> 
> On to the chapter!

Derek woke with a start, his eyes blinking off the late afternoon sunshine. For a moment he couldn’t figure out why the sun was shining in his window, or why his window was suddenly so small, or his bed for that matter. The scent of honeysuckle slowly registered in his mind, as did the arm draped over his side. He breathed out a sigh of relief and settled back into Stiles’ arms. 

The shrill ring of a cell phone sent a rumbly groan through Stiles’ chest. A small whine of loss escaped Derek as Stiles pulled his arm back and threw it blindly towards his bedside table, groping haphazardly around the offending sound. Thankfully he found it quickly enough that Derek wasn’t able to act on the urge to destroy the obnoxious device. 

“Ugh,” Stiles grumbled in lieu of greeting. 

“It’s so nice to hear my son greet me in such a loving manner when I call.” The sheriff’s sarcastic voice sounded tinny and broken through the speaker, but his words were filled with concern. Stiles sighed dramatically earning himself a laugh from the sheriff, who was apparently all too familiar with Stiles’ theatrics. 

“Hello dearest father of mine, oh magnanimous protector of the people and righter of wrongs,” Stiles sang into the speaker facetiously. Derek could tell he was being a little shit, but he could still hear the smile in Stiles’ voice. His heart ached for the familiarity of family that was so obvious in the Stilinski men’s words. 

“That’s a little better. But I’m pretty sure we decided on ‘Your highness’ last we spoke.” Stiles laughed out right, a bolt of joy shooting through the bond.

“Yeah, yeah, keep dreaming old man. So what’s up? Calling to let me know you’re coming home later than you thought?” The question was asked lightheartedly, but there was an edge of bitterness to it, as if Stiles had received far too many similar calls in the past and had given up arguing about them. Stiles didn’t seem like the type to ever willingly stop an argument, but if there were one person he would concede to, it would be his father. Derek rubbed his foot along Stiles’ exposed leg, hoping he was conveying some sense of comfort.

“Actually,” the sheriff started, choosing his words carefully, his voice thick with hesitation, “I may not be coming home at all.” 

Derek felt Stiles fall back flat onto the mattress. He ran his hand through his hair stiffly as he swallowed down the fear that threatened to spill out of him. It was a nervous habit of his, one that even Derek had picked up on some time ago, though it was infinitely more distracting now that his hair had grown out some and there was actually something to run his hands through. Derek could tell this was a dance the Stilinski men were experts at: balancing personal desires with professional need. He could sense in the set of Stiles’ shoulders that he had already decided to let his father go, he could feel his resolve slowly settling into place as he breathed in slow, deep breaths. It was a strangely mature reaction, biting back on his personal want so the sheriff could carry on with his job. Derek suddenly realized that in a lot of ways Stiles was more of an adult than he was. He shifted onto his back next to Stiles, nudging their shoulders together as the speaker crackled back to life. 

“We may have gotten a lead from our two lackeys in lock-up,” the sheriff continued. “Turns out there’s another boss out there, someone higher up than Rey, someone who apparently trained all of them.” There was a pause as the sheriff sighed into the phone sounding far more downtrodden than expected. “That means this isn’t just a couple nutjobs, it’s an organized group, and we lost their number two man. These two claim this boss would do anything to keep Rey with him, even if it meant leaving them to be locked up for 20 years. Apparently he never liked them as much because they were too soft.” Disgust seeped into the sheriff’s words. 

Stiles was quick to share the sentiment. To think that people who were willing to knock him unconscious, bind him, lock him in a cage, and electrocute him were the ‘soft’ ones of the group made the calm, collected, (and supposedly more homicidal than the rest) Rey seem all the more terrifying. He was silently thankful that his father didn’t know the extent of the ordeal with the hunters. He would never be so calm if he knew Stiles had been shot, or lashed by debris. 

“So it’s been an enlightening afternoon,” the sheriff summed up, attempting to shift the topic back to the question at hand. “And we may have a lead as to where this boss guy might be hiding, but it’s already a day old so….”

“Time is of the essence,” Stiles recited back, already positive that his father was going to follow the lead. He had heard it in his voice back at the hospital; there was nothing that would stop the sheriff from getting justice. Derek shifted nervously at his side, sensing the swirling emotions in his chest. 

“…yeah,” the sheriff admitted bitterly. “But I can come home, there are plenty of other deputies who would love to be put on this case. They all seem to have gotten attached to you, somehow, despite your antics and trouble making, so everyone wants to find these guys– ”

“Dad,” Stiles interrupted, forcing an approving tone a little harder than he normally needed to, “Go get them. I’ll be fine. I can stay with the pack.” 

Derek stiffened at his side and a hurt look flashed across Stiles’ face. Maybe he wasn’t welcome with the pack after all? Clearly Derek didn’t mind Stiles’ presence, considering everything they’d just done, but maybe insinuating himself into the pack’s protection was going too far. Was Stiles not considered pack after all? Derek had told him he was welcome at one point. Had he changed his mind?

Wait. Had he ever accepted that invitation? 

The sheriff’s voice broke through his internal ranting long enough to silence him with a single word. 

“Pack?”

The question seemed to echo through the room as Stiles’ mere concern turned to gripping, icy dread. 

Shit. He had said pack to his father. His father who knew nothing about the wolves. Stiles turned to Derek with panic in his eyes. The alpha just nodded at him with a strangely serene expression, which was quite at odds with his still stiff posture. Was that permission to let his father in on the whole wolf-y situation? Stiles mulled it over for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of letting his father in on the big secret. He still wasn’t sure if it would put him in more or less danger when he was fully aware of the happenings in town. But he deserved to know. Just not right now, not over the phone. That was a conversation that needed to happen face-to-face. And hopefully with the entire pack at his back to keep him from chickening out. He shook his head and jumped back into clean up mode. 

“Haha. Yeah, it’s what we’ve started calling ourselves,” he replied a little too late to seem natural. “Because we’re always together and people started saying we move in a herd and whatnot, but the Herd doesn’t sound nearly as cool as the Pack, you know? Herds are always made up of weak, grazing animals. Who wants to call their friends a bunch of cows or gazelle, right? Pack sounds way cooler. It’s like a wolf pack. Or a pack of beer, not that I have any idea what a pack of beer is. Ok, so I obviously know what it is, but I have not personally ever been involved with said variety of pack.” 

Derek’s eyes winced shut from second hand embarrassment in the middle of Stiles’ rambling. Stiles could see him shaking his head slowly from the corner of his eye, silently mocking his ability to cover his tracks. He rammed his elbow into the alpha’s side and smiled victoriously at the grunt that followed. 

“Right. So you’re staying with Scott,” the sheriff stated matter-of-factly. It was impressive how well he could stay on task through Stiles’ ranting. While Stiles had no intention of ending up at the McCall residence that evening, he had no problems with letting his father believe that was the plan. In all honesty, he probably would end up with Scott, but he was hoping for somewhere a little further in town, and higher off the ground, with a much grumpier landlord. 

“Yeah, dad,” Stiles laughed into the receiver. “We’ll have the rest come over and make it a movie night.”

“As long as that’s okay with Melissa,” the sheriff warned using his ‘official’ tone, knowing that Stiles would absolutely invite people to someone else’s house without asking first. 

Stiles grinned at the fondness in his father’s voice. His dad had always held a soft spot for Melissa McCall, especially after how helpful she had been during….well, during everything. But now that fondness had developed into something much deeper. Scott and Stiles were taking bets on who would get up the courage to ask the other out first. Most of the pack was in on it too. Stiles tried not to be insulted that most of them had bet on Melissa.

“Of course, pops. You know how responsible I am,” Stiles teased.

“Right. On second thought maybe I shouldn’t leave you alone.”

“No, you know I’m joking. You need to go. I know that,” Stiles assured him. “I understand. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I’ve got people to look after me. Go be supercop and I’ll be here when you get back. Just like always. Just, stay safe, ok?” 

The sheriff sighed quietly on the other end of the line, years of broken promises and late nights echoing through the sound. Stiles wasn’t sure he would have heard it without his enhanced hearing, but the sound was heartbreaking enough that he knew he never wanted to hear it again. 

“Seriously dad. I know what this means to you. I want you to go. I want you to catch these bastards. And I know you will. It’s okay.” His voice was laced with the kind of honesty the Stilinski men rarely showed, the kind that was reserved for serious occasions, like bitter anniversaries and kidnapping attempts, and funerals. 

“I’m gonna find him, kiddo,” the sheriff promised. His voice grew steadily more determined. Derek felt like he was intruding on a very private moment, but he didn’t know how to excuse himself.

“I know you will. Just do it quick. And be safe. Wait for back-up. You know the drill.”

“Yes, sir. And Stiles, don’t forget; I love you,” the sheriff said in lieu of goodbye.

“Love you too,” Stiles returned instinctually, but Derek could smell the sincerity of the words, he could feel the full truth of the sentiment through their bond and it made his chest ache. Stiles had so much love to give and when he chose to, he gave it all. And it was terrifying.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promised an update today, so here we go. Don't forget to wish all your moms a Happy Mother's Day (at least in the states).

“Did you bring the pizza,” a muffled voice called through the loft door where Derek and Stiles stood, arms full with enough pizza and wings to feed approximately Ghana. 

“Open the damn door, Erica,” Derek growled angrily. Stiles chuckled into the stack of food in his hands. He knew Derek wasn’t really mad at Erica, but the alpha’s frustrated groan as she slowly plodded to the door was adorable. 

They had left Stiles’ house shortly after his father called. Neither had been in the mood to talk much, but being near each other seemed to have a calming effect. Stiles had texted Scott to let him know what was going on, but had been surprised when he immediately called back and ordered Stiles and Derek to pick up enough pizza for the whole pack. Apparently they had all ended up back at the loft during Stiles and Derek’s nap and were now eagerly awaiting a celebratory pizza party in honor of Stiles’ release from the hospital (had been planned without their knowledge). But they didn’t want to actually go out and get the pizza. 

Derek had been forced to prove to the pizza place that the call they had received from his loft had not been a joke and that he actually did want 15 pizzas and 5 dozen wings. Which he then had to wait 45 minutes for because they had been sure it was a prank since he only ever ordered one pizza at a time and hadn’t made the order. He had scowled so hard the entire time they waited they ended up getting an extra pizza, an extra dozen wings, four 2-liter sodas for free, along with a cannoli to eat while they waited. Stiles had quite enjoyed forcing Derek to share the cannoli with him, taking extra care to lick the filling out as sensually as possible until Derek had sputtered out a growled ‘If you don’t stop right now I will literally rip your tongue out and feed it to you’ as he ground a palm down into his suddenly rapt dick. Stiles had laughed so hard he nearly choked on the cannoli. Derek had rolled his eyes at him and refused to help out of spite, which earned him more than a few dirty looks from the staff who eventually brought Stiles some water. 

By the time they got back to the loft, the pack had been waiting over an hour and a half and Derek was fuming because Stiles had decided to fellate a chicken wing during the ride over just to annoy him. He just hoped the smell of pizza and wings would cover the smell of arousal he felt clinging to his skin. 

The door lurched open as Erica’s bushy hair filled the doorway. Her giggling stopped immediately at the look on Derek’s face. She subtly sniffed the air and eyed the two of them skeptically for a moment. Derek hoped he had imagined it, but he was sure she had noted something from the way her eyes widened ever so slightly. She gave Stiles her most dazzling smile before grabbing the stack of pizzas in his hands and prancing back into the loft. 

“I come bearing gifts of food,” she announced cheerfully to raucous applause and cheers. 

“Actually, WE brought food,” Derek mumbled petulantly as he shuffled through the loft into his makeshift kitchen. Stiles sidled up beside him and wrapped his arm around his waist. 

“Don’t worry. We all know you’re the ever providing leader of this ragtag group of motley misfits, oh great alpha,” he assured with a quick squeeze of Derek’s hip. He melted into the touch, thrilling at the warmth that spread through him from Stiles’ touch. 

Stiles turned his head away and pulled his arm back suddenly. Derek had to stop himself from pulling the arm back into place. He turned just in time to see Boyd, Scott, and Isaac giving him a scrutinizing look before tilting their heads and scenting the air. Stiles stiffened at his side, his eyes cast downward, his posture screaming of guilt. 

Boyd and Isaac just nodded once and resumed the game they were playing (it looked like Cards Against Humanity, and based on the giggles still emanating from the table, it probably was). Scott’s reaction was less subtle. His eyes widened as recognition dawned on his face, his jaw dropping open to flap aimlessly. Stiles refused to look up, positive that he would only see disgust and betrayal in his friends’ eyes. 

“Dude,” Scott started excitedly as Stiles tried to sink back into the counter, “Grab some pizza and get over here, we’re playing Cards Against Humanity! You will not believe how good Lis is!” Stiles’ head snapped up, a surprised smile stretching across his face. Derek breathed a sigh of relief, secretly proud that Scott was learning to exercise discretion. 

Stiles sauntered over with two large pepperoni pizzas under his arm and plopped down on the couch between Scott and Erica. Scott and Isaac tore the pizza from Stiles’ hands and started tossing pieces around the room, much to Derek’s chagrin as grease flung all over his new(ish) rug. Erica tucked herself into Stiles’ side and laid her head on his shoulder to whisper a quick ‘Congratulations’ into his ear while the boys wrestled for the sodas. Derek grinned at the blush that crept into Stiles’ cheeks. At least they were all being supportive. 

Derek decided to leave the kids to their game and grabbed a pizza for himself before wandering over to the far side of the room. Taipa was hovering by the window, wringing her hands nervously and eyeing the wolves gathered around her granddaughter. 

“Don’t worry, they’re good kids,” he announced as he stepped up beside her. She tried to cover her startled jump with a cough, but the embarrassed look in her eyes gave her away. 

“Sorry, I forgot that not everyone here is…different. Didn’t mean to scare you. Pizza,” he offered casually, holding the box open towards her.

The woman stared up at him, genuinely surprised by the motion. She cautiously plucked out a piece and turned her skeptical eyes back to Derek’s face.

“It’s okay. I promise it’s safe,” he assured her. “I wouldn’t hurt you. Either of you. Not after what you’ve done for my pack.”

“For your mate you mean,” she corrected quietly. Derek’s eyes snapped to Stiles’ face across the room. He was draped over Scott’s shoulders trying to help him pick the most inappropriate card to play while Erica was stealthily picking through his cards and replacing them with the ones she didn’t want from her own hand. Boyd and Isaac were watching the display disinterestedly, but Kaliska was practically rolling on the floor with laughter. Stiles’ eyes shown bright as he basked in the comforting warmth of camaraderie and pack. Derek could feel the pleasant glow bleeding through their bond. He turned back to Taipa solemnly. Whoever she was, she definitely knew enough about werewolves to have called him on his bluff.

“Right,” he whispered, acknowledging her assertion. “It’s still new. I don’t know if he’s really ready for it. I don’t want to spook him.” He didn’t know why he was confessing his concerns to the stranger, of all people, but something about her, some maternal instinct she exuded, made him want to talk to her. She watched his face as anxiety, fear, and guilt shifted through his features. 

“I take it you have had issues with this kind of bond in the past.”

Derek flinched like he’d been slapped. It felt wrong to compare the toxic façade of intimacy he had shared with Kate to the deep, soul shattering connection he had with Stiles, but Taipa was right; he was still scared that Kate had ruined him for anyone else. He was still scared that he would ruin Stiles the way she had destroyed him. And he couldn’t bear to think of hurting Stiles like that. Taipa reached forward and placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. Her dark tattoos seemed to dance down her arms as she moved. 

“I can tell you care about these children. You try to protect them as much as you can, even when you don’t know what you’re doing. It’s brave of you. You are barely more than a child yourself, and yet you hold yourself to a much higher standard. Perhaps you should tell me why you look so scared to have formed such a strong, healthy bond with someone who clearly cares for you as much as you care for him.”

Derek swallowed down the lump in his throat. The one that always used to come up whenever Kate was discussed, and now came up whenever Stiles and the future were mentioned. He hadn’t ever discussed Kate with anyone, had always known that he deserved to shoulder that burden alone. 

But looking at Taipa, seeing the genuine concern in her eyes, the motherly forgiveness she was so willing to offer, he couldn’t stop himself. 

“Maybe I should. But let’s do this outside. I don’t want them to hear,” he said with a nod towards the pack. They were all fighting over which card deserved to win the most even though it was Isaac’s turn to pick. From what Derek could tell the card was something along the lines of “During sex I like to think about _____” and the top contenders were “Genetically engineered super soldiers” and “Coat hanger abortions”. Apparently the group was split between the automatic win that typically accompanied the ‘coat hanger’ card and the comic appropriateness of the ‘soldier’ card since they were currently watching Captain America. 

Stiles turned around and caught Derek’s gaze while the others argued. He could tell that Stiles felt the anxiety pulsing in his gut, but he smiled in reassurance and waved him off. Stiles’ voice suddenly rang through Derek’s head. _You’re okay, right? You know I’m here if you need me. ___Derek just nodded with a grateful smile and a mental _Thanks ___. As Stiles turned back to the game, Derek dropped the pizza on the table and led Taipa outside. He couldn’t believe he was actually going to do it; he was finally going to talk about Kate. He was finally going to admit out loud that he had practically killed his entire family because he was a stupid kid who thought he knew what love was. This was going to suck.

_______ _

__

__Stiles sat back against the couch and bemusedly watched the argument unfold before him. Lis was dead set on choosing the “Genetically enhanced super soldiers” card, but Isaac was desperately trying to convince her otherwise. It was cute that he thought he had a chance of changing her mind. Stiles had only know Lis for a couple days, and she had only been human for part of that time, but he already knew she was just as stubborn as the rest of them. She actually fit in with the pack remarkably well considering._ _

__Suddenly a stack of cards went flying through the air as Isaac threw his scarf down in defeat, scattering all the winner’s cards in the process. It took approximately 0.3 seconds before he was sprinting from the room with Erica, Boyd, and Scott hot on his heels. Their thundering footsteps rang through the room as they charged up the metal staircase to the second, even sparser floor. He could still hear them tumbling around turns through the ceiling as they chased each other down._ _

__Lis hopped up from her spot on the floor and plopped down next to Stiles._ _

__“So, I take it things are going well with you and Mr. Dark and Stormy?” Her saccharine tone did nothing to hide her seemingly-omniscient superiority. Stiles rolled his eyes in a way that was disturbingly similar to Derek’s notorious theatrics. Lis burst out laughing at the borrowed gesture._ _

__“Ohmygod, you guys are so in sync it’s disgusting. You looked just like him right now,” she squealed in delight. Stiles crossed his arms defensively and slumped back against the sofa. He wasn’t trying to mimic Derek; he was genuinely annoyed. Why was his annoyance now somehow connected to Derek? He frowned at the barely suppressed giggles that slipped past Lis’ lips._ _

__“Sorry. I know you’re not trying to be him and you still want to be your own person even if you are with him, and all that blah blah blah, yadda yadda. But it’s still funny,” she ‘apologized’. Stiles turned to face her, a quizzical expression on his face._ _

__“So you’ve been a fox for, what? A few years at least, right?” The smile faded from Lis’ face as she nodded cautiously, unsure of where Stiles’ question was leading._ _

__“And you said you were like 13 or 14 when you got stuck,” Stiles added, slowly pulling the threads of her story in his mind. She nodded again._ _

__“So how are you so well adjusted? How can you talk like an adult, or at least a late teenager, and know all this pop culture stuff if you were stuck as a fox for most of your teen years? I’m not trying to be a dick, I’m just really curious,” Stiles added quickly. Lis sighed in relief as she settled back into the sofa as well. The sounds of the pack wrestling above them filled the silence as she paused to think._ _

__“Well, I was always a bit precocious as a kid. I mean that’s kind of obvious considering I was sneaking around with an older guy when I was 13, but it extended beyond that. I was top of my class at school. And not the res school, that place was a shit heap. No, grandmother sent me to a private school in the city. The best and brightest went there. Had to wear full uniforms and everything.” She hesitated as she lost herself in a memory of the life she once had. The bitter smile on her face was equal parts disturbing and sad._ _

__“I got in trouble a lot. I didn’t like the rules. I didn’t like the prissy kids who thought they were better than me because their skin was lighter, or their hair was fairer, or because they had more money than me. I was smarter than all of them and I had no problems proving it, in every possible way. Getting better grades wasn’t enough. I tormented them. I actually pretended to curse one boy. He got so scared he tripped over his girlfriend when he threw her in front of himself like a human shield before running away.” Stiles quirked an approving eyebrow at her. The boy sounded like Jackson, and Stiles would always feel vindicated when someone like Jackson got what was coming to them. (He absently wondered where Jackson was, since the rest of the pack was at the loft with him. Then he realized that Jackson would never celebrate something good happening to Stiles, so his absence made sense.)_ _

__“So you were smart to begin with,” Stiles concluded from her story, “but still I mean, you fit in right now, after like no transition time. Adult social cues are not exactly easy to learn. I mean, I’ve been learning them for years now and I still do everything wrong half the time. How do you manage?”_ _

__“Well grandmother’s been with me the whole time. She teaches me what I need to know, book wise, and shows me what I need to know socially. She never wanted me to lose my humanity. Even though she couldn’t understand me, she knew that my mind was still human. So she kept teaching me. I wouldn’t be nearly as stable if I had been on my own.”_ _

__Stiles considered her story. It made sense that she would still be able to learn, even if she couldn’t put most of the knowledge to practice. He was still able to think and construct abstract thoughts when he was all foxed out, so she should have been able to as well._ _

__“Huh, that is surprisingly simple, and yet brilliant at the same time. I’m impressed,” Stiles admitted honestly. Lis blushed at the compliment and turned her eyes to the table full of scattered cards._ _

__A sudden wave of anger and hatred and desperate fear punched into him. The intensity was dizzying as the violent torrent of emotions pounded through him. He couldn’t even think as blind rage took over his senses. Lis stared up at him nervously, backing away slowly until she was at the far end of the couch. Stiles’ vision turned amber as anger swelled in his chest. He couldn’t stop it; he couldn’t even figure out where it was coming from. He could feel his claws piercing through the ends of his fingers, his fangs piercing through gums._ _

__Just as suddenly, an all-consuming sense of guilt flushed through him, draining the rage in a heartbeat as his stomach twisted into tense, angry knots. Bile burned at the back of his throat, making him gag uncontrollably. He doubled over in pain and nausea, clawed hands gripping at the edge of the sofa._ _

__“Stiles, what’s wrong?” Lis’ terrified voice was barely above a whisper, confusion etched through her features. “Should I get Derek?”_ _

__Derek._ _

__As soon as the name hit his ears, he realized what was happening. All of it, all of the violent emotions and physical reactions, was coming from Derek._ _

__Stiles’ heart sank as the pieces fell into place. There was only one thing that could cause this particular array of emotions. Kate._ _

__Derek still didn’t know how much Stiles had figured out about Kate, but this cavalcade of sickening feeling was exactly how Stiles had reacted when he had first figured it out._ _

__He staggered to his feet slowly, his mind still fuzzy from the flood of chemicals his brain had just released. Lis held out a hand to help him, even though he could smell her anxiety about his strange behavior._ _

__“It’s okay. It’s nothing. I just…I need to find Derek. I’m fine.”_ _

__Stiles waved her off and stumbled forward, trying to focus on the link between him and the alpha. It was barely noticeable through the churning guilt and burning rage, but he found that faint pull of connection and latched onto it. He dragged himself towards the wall of windows where he could see Derek standing with Taipa on the balcony. She had her arm wrapped around his shoulders and his head was hung low between them. Stiles could see the tension in his back, in the way he teetered on his feet as if fighting with the urge to collapse into the woman beside him and let her take away all of his pain._ _

__Wait a minute. Stiles actually could take away his pain. He had done it before. He was practically doing it now. Well, he was feeling it already, so he might as well take it for real._ _

__He wrenched the window open and threw himself out onto the balcony, letting the cool evening air wash away some of the pain of Derek’s misery. He could hear the other betas skipping down the stairs, giggling about something inconsequential. It was astonishing to Stiles that they didn’t even notice that their alpha was in such anguish. Meanwhile, he could actually feel the exact torment Derek felt._ _

__Taipa turned to watch him struggle to his feet, her arm still wrapped around Derek. He could just barely hear the broken sobs coming from the man. Stiles’ heart clenched painfully at the sound of his mate so inconsolably upset. Taipa nodded him over, her eyes lit with understanding._ _

__She pulled away gently as Stiles fell forward, wrapping his arms around Derek’s waist and burying his face between his shoulders. He could feel the heaving sobs pulled from Derek’s chest, could smell the salty tears that stained his cheek. He never would have thought in a million years that Derek was even capable of crying, but then again, no one really thought it of him either. Derek was so wrapped up in his own past that he didn’t even realize Stiles had appeared behind him._ _

__Stiles breathed in deeply, ignoring the self-loathing and wrath that coated Derek’s skin, and spread his open palms against Derek’s chest and stomach, pressing ever so lightly with his claws to break Derek’s concentration. He still wasn’t entirely sure how his abilities worked, but he focused in on the pain that tore at Derek’s mind and heart. He focused on the connection that bound them together and pulled as hard as he could._ _

__Nothing happened._ _

__He tried again, focusing harder, picking out the threads of anger and hatred that flowed from Derek and tying them to himself, willing the feelings of regret and betrayal to seep out of Derek and into him. But Derek wouldn’t let him._ _

__“It’s not your pain to take,” the alpha whispered, his voice breaking on every word, his throat raw and painful._ _

__“No, but it’s my pain to share, you idiot,” Stiles argued. “You’re not alone here. I can already feel it, just let me help you. For once in your stubborn, bull headed life, let someone help you!” He felt Derek’s growl rumble through his chest, but he refused to budge._ _

__“Derek, please. Please let me help you. I can’t let you sit out here killing yourself like this and pretend it isn’t happening. You’ve taken my pain before just let me return the favor. This isn’t even pain you should be carrying. None of it was your fault.”_ _

__“You don’t know. You don’t know what my faults are. You don’t know what I did,” Derek grumbled back at him. His words were filled with venom, but they fell flat in Stiles’ ears. He could feel the alpha trying to hold strong, trying not to melt into Stiles’ embrace, trying to hold up his walls. But they were cracking. And Stiles had just the wrecking ball to bring them down completely._ _

__“Derek, I already know everything. You know me; I see a puzzle, I solve it. You were the biggest puzzle in my life. And I solved you months ago. I know exactly what happened between you and Kate. I know what you think it means.” Stiles swallowed hard before continuing. He had been preparing himself to talk to Derek at some point, but he had never imagined it going quite like this. He forced the ball of panic in his stomach to settle before speaking again._ _

__“I know what she did to you. And I love you anyway.”_ _

__The words rang through Derek’s ears like the trumpets heaven. All of the time he’d spent wondering if Stiles would ever be able to accept him fully, all of the time spent berating himself for daring to love someone ever again, all of the time spent building up his walls, all of it was swept away with four simple words. His walls finally fell, and he sat back and watched them crumble. He sank back into Stiles’ arms. The walls shattered around him and all of the pain and misery and self loathing he’d been carrying for the past six years burst forth at once. His mind spun as memories flashed to surface chased by flood after flood of emotion. He could feel Stiles digging through their bond, pulling the painful memories away from him one by one, taking on the soul shredding agony himself. His chest began to loosen as Stiles unwound the barbed threads of fear and hatred that had embedded themselves into his heart so many years ago. He felt the warm glow of Stiles, his Stiles, spread through him, filling all the broken crevices his memories left raw and open. He could feel Stiles needling his way into his heart and fitting himself into the spot Derek had never realized was waiting for him. It felt right. It felt perfect._ _

__Derek’s hands clutched at Stiles’ fingers as he sank to his knees, pulling the boy down over him._ _

__Stiles continued to pull the sadness from his mate, ignoring the biting, icy, anguish pooling in his stomach and creeping through his veins. He could deal with it. If it meant Derek could finally reach some sort of peace, he could handle feeling his pain for now. Without thinking, he placed a soft kiss between Derek’s shoulders, a silent promise to never let Derek go through something like this again, and laced their fingers together._ _

__“Thank you,” he whispered, “Thank you for letting me help. Thank you for trusting me to make it better.”_ _

__Derek drew in a staggered breath and turned his head to the side, trying to get a better view of Stiles’ calming, beautiful face, but he didn’t want to let go of his hands; they were the only thing keeping him grounded. He also desperately didn’t want Stiles to let go of him. It was easier this way, he decided. Not having to see his face, not having to see his reaction, his rejection. But he needed to say it. He needed Stiles to know. He sucked in a quick breath before he could lose his nerve. It was now or never, he thought as he inhaled the perfect, calming scent of honeysuckle and anxiety, with just a touch of lust._ _

__“I love you.”_ _


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, sorta bad news. I may not be updating for the next couple weeks. My schedule just had so much crap thrown into my lap that I spent a good ten minutes in the shower crying and trying to sort out everything I have to do over the next two weeks. That being the case, this is the one thing that CAN take the back burner for a little while (even though it's the one thing I DON'T want to ease up on). I'll try to update you by Tuesday about whether or not I'm going to just fall off the face of the earth for a couple weeks, but just know it's a very real possibility right now.
> 
> That being said, please enjoy the chapter! 
> 
> (Also, I've been writing this for so long and had so much going on that I'm worried I'm making mistakes and contradicting myself because I can only focus and remember so much. If you see plot holes or OOC stuff, PLEASE call me on that shit. I WILL fix it. I do not want to let things like that slide. I just don't always catch them myself. Thanks! You're all awesome and I'm so grateful that you've stuck with me so long.)

Stiles startled awake suddenly, grasping at the solid heat in his arms. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and surveyed his surroundings. When had he fallen asleep? He peered over the soft tuft of thick black hair tucked against his jaw and saw the empty loft laid out in front of him.

When had they gone inside? He vaguely remembered being exhausted after leeching years of pent up emotion from Derek, but he didn’t remember moving from the balcony. He just remembered sitting there in the quiet, dark night, holding Derek against him and letting him start to heal.

Derek had said something at one point, hadn’t he?

_“I love you.”_

Stiles could feel the heat coloring his cheeks as Derek’s voice rang through his memory. The man in question shifted closer, tucking himself further into Stiles’ grasp as his heart raced from disbelief. Derek loved him? Like, love love?

It was too much to think about and there were more pressing issues. Like…the weather. Yeah, and that math homework he still hadn’t bothered to do. And how exactly had he gotten back inside the loft? That was definitely more worth focusing on than Derek saying he loved him. Much more pressing. Much less terrifying.

A sudden realization slammed into him, causing an entirely new wave of embarrassment to flush through his body. He had passed out again. He had taken too much at once and couldn’t handle it and then Derek, in his equally weakened state, had to carry his sorry ass back inside so he wouldn’t freeze to death.

Stiles groaned inwardly. Was he ever not going to be a complete and utter dork? _But Derek loves that dork_ , a small voice reminded him. His lips parted into a smug grin. Even if he was a dork, he had somehow gained the affection of the finest specimen in all of northern California, perhaps all of the west coast. Not that Derek’s looks were the only appealing part of him, but Stiles has always tried to be honest with himself, and Derek’s looks were definitely a major bonus.

He buried his nose in Derek’s tousled hair and breathed deep, letting the scent of pine and smoke, and the faint trace of shame, fill his senses. Without thinking twice about it, he pulled Derek flush against him and wrapped his leg over his hip, effectively trapping the man under his body. He relaxed further when Derek sank back into the touches, melting against his chest and wrapping a solid arm over his knee. It may not have been the most graceful position, but it was unexpectedly comforting.

A muffled whine grabbed Stiles attention from the other side of the bed. He leaned up carefully, making sure not to disturb Derek, and peered over the edge of the bed onto the floor. Only, the floor wasn’t there. The couch that had been on the other side of the room earlier was tucked up against Derek’s side of bed, like an extension. On it, lay a black and blonde tangle of limbs snoring ever so slightly. Erica was tucked firmly against Boyd’s chest, arms curled against him like she couldn’t bear to be apart, but Boyd’s arm was thrown over her, reaching out towards Derek. Stiles followed the dark like of his forearm all the way to Derek’s wrist, where his dark fingers were loosely wrapped.

He looked down the length of the bed to find Isaac curled onto the corner of the mattress. He was using Derek’s calf as a pillow, but his long, gangly legs were thrown over the end of the couch, tangling in with Erica and Boyd’s. Stiles grinned at the pack sleeping peacefully around their alpha; they really did care.

A hand softly landed on Stiles hip from behind. He turned to see Scott’s sleep scrunched face creeping closer and closer to his pillow. It was a move he was all too familiar with. They had always shared their small twin beds whenever they slept over when they were young, but twin beds only ever had one pillow. Scott would always valiantly offer the pillow to Stiles, but would inevitably end up worming his way onto it in the middle of the night. It never really bothered Stiles, but he found it funny that they couldn’t just outright share the pillow from the start.

As the memory quickly faded, Scott’s head finally hit home on the pillow. His body shifted closer until Stiles was practically boxed in. If he had been between anyone else, he was sure he would have felt claustrophobic. But between Derek and Scott, he just felt immensely safe, and loved. His head plopped back onto the pillow, steering clear of the section Scott had commandeered, and he settled back into the mattress. He listened to the sounds of the pack breathing as his eyes drifted shut and he fell back into a comfortable, relaxing sleep.

___

The pack woke slowly the next morning. Half-hearted grumbles and groans echoed through the empty loft as the rising sun blazed through the windows. Why the hell did Derek put his bed right in the path of the sunrise? What kind of poor planning was that? None of them had any urge to get up, even though it was technically a school day.

Stiles blinked his eyes open, straining against the onslaught of fiery yellow light, to take stock of the pack. Erica and Boyd were still curled up on the couch, although Erica had spun around to face Derek sometime in the night and had wrapped her hand around Derek’s forearm, right above where Boyd’s still held his wrist. Isaac had curled in further so his feet were resting further up on Boyd’s hip, but his head was still pillowed against Derek’s calf. Stiles wiggled backwards and felt Scott’s butt lined up right beneath his. He was unsurprised that Scott had flipped at some point; he had always been one to shift a lot in his sleep.

“You actually getting up,” Lis’ curious voice drifted up from the floor. Stiles craned his neck to find her settled into a nest of blankets at the foot of the bed.

“What are you doing on the floor?”

Stiles realized belatedly that he had ignored her question, but he was distracted by her odd choice of sleeping arrangement. There was another perfectly good second hand couch in what counted as the living room. He could hear her shifting nervously.

“I…everyone seemed so happy over here. It just felt more cozy,” she confessed quietly. Stiles smiled at her honesty. It really was comforting being with the rest of the pack. They must have seemed pretty comfortable with her too, since they were all passed out in front of her. He wondered vaguely if they would end up with a couple new pack members by the end of this whole ordeal.

“Wait. Where’s your grandmother,” he asked after a quick survey of the rest of the empty loft.

“She went to the store to get breakfast stuff,” Lis chuckled.

“By herself? Was that the smartest decision? Especially right now,” Stiles wondered aloud, not realizing how rude it sounded until it was too late.

“She can handle herself. I mean, obviously. She’s been handling me in secret for a while now. Besides, apparently your alpha there doesn’t pack a very full fridge.”

“Hard to keep a stocked fridge with a pack or freeloading teenagers raiding it every day,” Derek grumbled into Stiles’ arm where it was propped under his head.

Stiles’ heart spiked as Derek shifted against him, still sleep drunk enough to not realize how close everyone had gotten. He could feel himself starting to panic as Derek slowly shook off the early morning haze of sleepiness. Dealing with a sleeping and emotionally vulnerable Derek was very different than dealing with a waking one; he didn’t know how close or distant they were supposed to be in public. Stiles wasn’t even sure what their relationship was at the moment. Everything had been very confusing over the last few days. Maybe he could slide his arm out from under him before he realized they were still essentially spooning, like the most sickeningly domestic couple in existence. Derek just did not seem like the type of person that wanted to spoon, or at least not the type who would want others to know that he liked to spoon. He needed a distraction, so hopefully no one would notice the movement.

“He lives,” Stiles’ mouth announced dramatically without his permission. He tried to ignore the way Derek’s warm breath seemed to curl around the smooth skin of his wrist as he breathed out a laugh. He could feel Derek’s eyelashes tickling his arm as he blinked the last of sleep out of his eyes. Crap. Well, if he was going to move, it was now or never.

Before he could manage to pull back Derek bit down on his arm in (if Stiles didn’t know better) a playful way. Stiles froze, partially from shock and partially from some instinctual panic at the werewolf teeth resting against his very pierce-able skin. His panic turned to pure surprise as Derek reached back blindly and pulled Stiles other arm back around his waist, twisting their fingers together in the process.

Stiles’ mind screeched to a halt.

What just happened? Had Derek really just initiated personal contact? Very obvious and deliberate contact? In front of the entire pack? Was he still holding that contact? Stiles didn’t know how to react. His entire body went rigid as his brain jump-started back in at warp speed, thoughts and possibilities, and potential meaning screaming through his mind.

“For god’s sake, Stiles, calm the hell down. He’s holding your hand, not nailing you in front of us.”

Scott’s irritated, and exaggerated in Stiles’ opinion, groan almost drowned out the eruption of giggles that came from the rest of the room. Stiles buried his face into the back of Derek’s neck as a deep blush colored his cheeks. It was almost touching that Scott could still read him like a book, even when he wasn’t looking at him. But it was mainly embarrassing that he had let the whole pack in on Stiles’ internal freak out. He elbowed Scott hard in the kidney for his lack of discretion. A sharp yelp bounced off the walls, followed by a clatter and a thump as Scott fell off the side of the bed.

“Serves you right,” Stiles grumbled into Derek’s neck as Isaac practically fell off the bed from laughter. Scott whined pitifully on the floor. Suddenly Stiles’ pillow was ripped from under his head and tossed across the bed, right into Isaac’s face.

For a split second everything went still and quiet. Then the entire pack exploded into a violent pillow fight. Isaac flung the pillow back at Scott just in time to get hit by Erica and Boyd’s. Even Lis joined the fight, tossing her tiny couch pillow into the fray much to the delight of Boyd who used it to nail Scott right in the stomach as he dove for the pillow Isaac had been hit with. Stiles pulled the covers up and tried to hide under them with Derek, even though Derek protested wisely that they wouldn’t actually protect them at all. Soon the entire pack had turned on them and began pummeling the multi-human shape under the blankets.

“Every man for himself,” Stiles screeched as his dove out from under the covers and landed in a heap on the floor. Three pillows instantly assaulted him as Derek stealthily crept out from under the covers on the other side of the bed.

“Hey! Why aren’t you attacking him,” Stiles cried out pathetically.

“He’s our alpha, duh,” Isaac informed him as he stalked forward with a blanket and a mischievous glint in his eye. Stiles knew what he was planning. He knew he was soon going to be wrapped up and tormented by four werewolves with pillows and would inevitably laugh through all of it. But when Isaac’s eyes flashed gold that instinct deep in Stiles mind snapped. He barely had time to register the look of surprise on Isaac’s face before he was racing to the other side of the loft to hide under the couch.

Wait, under?

Stiles looked down at his hands and was met with the vaguely familiar fuzzy black paws. Great.

The pack stood around Derek’s bed, staring out at the couch. No one knew what to do. Isaac was still in shock from watching Stiles somehow turn into a much smaller animal. Erica and Scott looked like they wanted to go after Stiles, but weren’t sure if they would scare him further. Boyd’s eyes flicked between Lis and Derek, gauging their reactions.

“Maybe one of you should go talk to him, since you’ve got more experience with this kind of thing,” he suggested. Derek stared at him incredulously. Lis looked pained.

“He’s kind of right,” Scott agreed half heartedly as he patted Isaac on the back, trying to break him from his shocked trance. Derek growled in frustration, but Lis took a cautious step towards the couch.

“I’ll go,” she said, gathering her courage. “I at least have experience with what he’s going through. Not so much from this side of things, but it’s a start.”

Derek nodded at her and motioned for the pack to stay where they were. He watched her cross the room with a mixture of curiosity and envy. He wanted to be the one to help Stiles, but he really didn’t know what to do to help. Every other time, they had just waited for him to change back. He crossed his arms grumpily and stood still, watching Lis and listening to Stiles’ frantic heartbeat while the pack slowly cleaned up the pillows and blankets.

“I’m sorry,” Isaac whispered as he approached Derek’s side, head hung low in shame. “I didn’t mean to scare him like that.” He refused to look up, flinching away as Derek uncrossed his arms, expecting a violent reprimand, still. Derek reached out and firmly gripped Isaac’s shoulder, squeezing lightly until Isaac looked up at him.

“It’s not your fault. None of us knew it would happen. Not even him.” Isaac looked relieved, but there was still that thread of distrust in his eyes. Not for the first time Derek silently cursed Mr. Lahey for the hell he had put the boy through. It had taken Derek a while to realize that pain was not the way to get through to Isaac; he still hoped he hadn’t realized it too late. He dismissed Isaac with a nod back to Scott. If anyone in the pack could convince Isaac he was innocent, it was Scott. Not only because Isaac trusted him, but because Stiles trusted him too. Derek focused back on Lis who was now sitting on the floor in front of the couch, patiently talking to the air, waiting for Stiles to emerge.

“I know you didn’t mean to change. No one thinks less of you for it. But you’re not in danger here. You know that, right?” Her soft, husky voice was oddly maternal for someone so young. Derek supposed it was from only listening to her grandmother for so many years. Maybe the maternal tone was learned.

A small pointed nose poked out from under the couch. Derek could just make out the faint sound of fox chatter as Stiles edged out further to look up at Kaliska. He was mildly annoyed that he couldn’t understand the chatter, especially considering he had heard Stiles voice in his head earlier. Kaliska looked pensive for a moment as if she was trying to translate what he was saying as well. Suddenly she turned towards Derek who startled at being caught staring. Even in a fox’s body, Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes at him. Lis waved him over.

“He wants you,” she clarified in a conversational tone, knowing that Derek would hear her even from across the room. He breathed out a sigh and attempted to calm himself before trudging over to the couch. Lis patted the floor next to her and waited for Derek to take the hint. Derek simply stared at the floor questioningly, as if he couldn’t comprehend sitting on the ground, especially cross-legged like a toddler the way Lis was. Stiles yipped in unison with Lis’ impatient groan.

“Just sit. You’re not going to lose your street cred if you sit on the floor. I mean, we already know you like to be the little spoon, so how much more damage can sitting on the floor cause your reputation,” Lis taunted lightheartedly.

Stiles darted out and nipped at her hand in Derek’s defense, which only made Derek feel worse. There he was, the alpha protector of his pack, being defended by a terrified fox from a girl he had known for less than a week who was already making fun of him. He sighed and crumpled onto the ground reluctantly. But the abrupt motion startled Stiles into a jump before slinking back under the couch.

“Oh yeah, I can see that he really wants me around,” Derek grumbled, his eyebrows forming a skeptical scowl. Lis tossed a glare over her shoulder at him. She slowly laid her hand out flat on the ground, palm facing up, and then turned to blink at Derek patiently. Derek shrugged confusedly at her as his eyes darted around the room, hoping for some explanation to magically appear.

“Put your hand out dumbass.” Lis’ casual tone belied her frustration. Derek wasn’t purposely being difficult; he just truly didn’t know what she was expecting. He growled under his breath at the insubordinate order, but flopped his hand onto the ground anyway.

A nose peeked back out from under the couch, twitching curiously as it breathed in the scents of the two people in front of it. Slowly, inch by inch, Stiles’ head emerged from under the couch, turning left and right to take in the docile forms of Lis and Derek. Derek tried to not take offense as Stiles crept closer to Lis. It made sense; she smelled like him, like a fox. But Derek smelled like him too. At least, like human him. He could still smell Stiles scent clinging to his skin from being wrapped in his surprisingly strong arms all night. He tried to squash the jealous tremor that threatened to turn to rage as Stiles looked up at Lis questioningly, as if asking permission to approach her.

“Go ahead. It’s safe. You know that,” she said softly. Derek looked away, shocked by how much it hurt that Stiles preferred Lis over him when he was scared. Derek thought he was a decent protector overall. Sure he had made some mistakes in the past, but he tried to learn from them. And Stiles had been so helpful and eager when Derek needed someone to lean on. But apparently he didn’t have quite the same attitude when he needed someone.

Suddenly a warm weight pounced into Derek’s lap, jabbing his thighs with sharp tiny paws. He looked down into Stiles’ happy furry face with confusion written all over his own. Stiles’ tail wagged happily as he stretched up to lick at Derek’s jaw, quieting his mind into a faint white noise as the sparks of electricity from Stiles’ tongue jolted through his body.

Lis’ delighted laughter broke Derek from his daze and he turned to stare at her accusingly. She stifled her laughter as much as she could, but couldn’t stop herself from starting all over as Stiles rubbed his fuzzy face all over Derek’s chest. Without planning to, Derek reached up to scratch behind Stiles’ ears. The fox promptly collapsed in his lap, leaning into the touch greedily, purring happily as Lis dissolved into a fit of giggles.

“Isn’t that the best feeling,” she choked out through her fits of laughter. Stiles grinned happily at her, a stark contrast to Derek’s frustrated look of confusion.

“What,” was all that Derek could manage to ask before Stiles was rolling over in his lap and exposing his soft belly to his magic fingers.

The gesture took Derek by surprise. He didn’t know if Stiles was just being greedy and wanted scratches or if he knew how big of a sign of submission exposing his belly was. Derek’s eyes scanned Stiles’ face for an answer. Stiles stared back at him knowingly and nodded once before letting his head fall back over Derek’s knee, exposing his throat as well. The amount of trust Stiles was putting into Derek’s hands felt like the weight of the world. But it also felt like he was filled with helium and Stiles’ soft, tiny body was the only thing keeping him from drifting away altogether. He gently laid his hand over Stiles’ bare stomach and rubbed the soft fur there. His hand slowly moved towards his exposed throat, trying not to let his nerves show through his touch. Stiles wiggled down into his lap further, his tail still wagging lazily over Derek’s leg.

“So he may not have been as scared as we led you to believe. He just wanted to sit in your lap and we figured this was the easiest, and most entertaining, way to make that happen,” Lis explained innocently, but her smirk read anything but innocence. Derek flicked Stiles ear causing the fox to jolt up for a moment.

“You could have just done it. Didn’t have to make me feel like an even bigger failure first,” Derek complained, surprised by the severity of the truth in his words. Stiles whined softly and rolled off of his lap, slinking off towards the couch once again. But Derek caught his tail before he could get very far and dragged him back, picking him up and curling him into his chest with one arm. His other hand resumed scratching behind Stiles’ ears as the fox looked up at him blankly.

“Just because I’m mad doesn’t mean I’m going to turn you away. I knew you were an asshole going into this. But just remember that I will exact my revenge when you least expect it,” he warned ominously. Stiles stared at him for a moment, eyes wide with fear. Derek simply smiled down at him innocuously and clambered back to his feet, Stiles still in hand. He sauntered back over to the pack and dropped Stiles onto the freshly made bed.

“You just going to sleep this one off too,” Derek asked as Stiles pawed at the sheets to make himself a nest. He stopped abruptly and looked up at Derek expectantly. He looked back down at his nest then back up at Derek a few more times before his meaning sunk in.

“Fine,” Derek sighed begrudgingly as he sat down at the edge of the bed, facing the pack. “I take it none of you are going to school today?”

Guilty glances passed through the room followed by a collective shrug.

“As if enough people don’t think I’m a bad influence,” Derek mumbled. “Whatever. If you’re going to skip, you’re going to be helpful. Take my card and go get groceries. I’m sure Taipa hasn’t made it to the store yet, so pick her up on your way. And bring back pre-made breakfast. I don’t feel like waiting for things to cook.”

The pack’s eyes lit up at being given free reign with Derek’s money. They were constantly complaining that there weren’t enough good snacks at the loft (and no granola bars do not count as good snacks, thank you very much). They dashed from the room, collecting their belongings and throwing on shoes. Scott stopped to give Stiles a searching look, making sure he was comfortable being there alone with Derek. Stiles would never get over how lucky he was to have Scott looking out for him. He threw him a quick a nod, and a wag of the tail for good measure.

“I expect at least half of these groceries to be fresh,” Derek warned as they gathered their coats. They deflated slightly at the newly imposed condition to their shopping spree.

“Um how are we supposed to get there,” Isaac asked astutely. Derek turned to Stiles with an unnerving smirk. He climbed over the bed to the pile of Stiles’ clothes on the floor and dug his keys out of the pocket. He tossed the keys to Boyd as Stiles let out a yelp of disbelief.

“That’s what you get for leaving them in your pocket all night,” Derek said vindictively. “Stupid things were digging into my hip for hours.” Stiles whuffed out an angry breath and plopped into his nest of blankets petulantly. Derek grabbed his own keys from the nightstand and tossed them to Erica.

“Why does she get to drive,” Isaac whined enviously.

“Because I’ve actually taught her how to drive and she has thus far managed to do so without blowing out a tire,” Derek shot back. Stiles felt like there was some untold story there. He forgot that the pack was pretty close before he and Scott came around. He absently wondered how many stories he didn’t know about the four other werewolves in the room.

“That was one time, Derek, and you know it,” Isaac argued childishly. Derek shrugged nonchalantly.

“I’m not taking chances.”

Erica blew a raspberry in Isaac’s face before running over to Lis, looping their arms together and skipping to the door.

“Last one there’s a kanima,” she taunted as she tossed the heavy loft door open and flung herself through the opening. The boys took off after them, barely pausing to close the door behind themselves. Derek turned back to Stiles with a bemused grin on his face. He was really beginning to like his pack. They weren’t the pack he had ever expected to have, but they worked well together.

Stiles watched him closely as he slowly settled back onto the mattress next to his nest. Derek left his hand open, flat on the mattress, extended towards Stiles’ blankets like a peace offering. The fox pranced over to the offering and licked at his fingertips, delighting in the soft gasp it pulled from the alpha’s lips. He vaguely wondered how much trouble he could get Derek into in fox form, but decided it was a little too bizarre to push just yet.  
Stiles casually climbed up onto Derek’s stomach and plodded in a circle for a moment before curling himself into a ball over Derek’s stomach. He laid his head down into his bushy tail, his eyes facing Derek’s still smiling face. Stiles breathed in the homey scent of Derek and let the content, peaceful feeling coming from their bond fill his every nerve.

The alpha curled his hand into Stiles’ soft fur and scratched lazily. He couldn’t believe how happy he felt just laying with his mate in the morning sunlight. Even in fox form, Stiles was the most comforting part of his life. He closed his eyes and soaked in the heat and reassuring weight of Stiles with his ever breath. The smile never left his face as Stiles purred contentedly into his chest until they both gradually fell back to sleep.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liiiiiiive! Thank you all for your patience. I have had a hellish couple of weeks and I'm pretty lucky that I came out of it relatively unscathed. I hate that this had to take the back seat for so long, but I'm back now. Hopefully I'll be able to keep up with the weekly updates now (or more by the end of the month). Again, thank you for your patience. I hope it was worth the wait.

Raucous laughter followed Stiles up the spiral staircase as he fled to the bathroom for safety. Embarrassment and anger heated his face as he slammed the door behind himself.

“Oh come on Stiles, we’re not gonna show anyone,” Isaac’s gleeful voice called out from the floor below.

“Yeah right, asshat,” Stiles seethed into the room. He could still hear Derek’s grumpy growls echoing up the stairs; it was improbably comforting that Derek was angry on his behalf. Now if only he could keep his shitty betas in line, Stiles thought to himself as he stepped into the shower and kicked the cold water on full blast.

After Stiles’ mid-morning nap he realized that the fall-asleep-in-order-to-shift-back theory they were working from still had a 100% success rate. However the most recent test of said theory included the unfortunate caveat of waking up completely nude…in a room full of your peers…with a raging hard-on.

_I blame you for this,_ Stiles hissed into Derek’s mind as he propped his head against the cool tiles, watching the water run down his stomach and over his ill-timed boner. Stupid alpha, with his unfairly warm and comfortable chest, and his stupid soothing hands, and those stupid inviting hips.

 

\- -

He had been perfectly fine sleeping on Derek’s stomach, curled up into a little fuzzy ball of adorable warmth. But then he had gotten too comfortable, surrounded by the heat and scent of his ma…of Derek, and he had just kind of changed back without meaning to. Well, he had meant to change back at some point, but the actual timing had taken both of them by surprise. One second Stiles was a fluffy ball of fur, and the next he was a very naked, very human teenager straddling Derek’s hips. It had taken his dick approximately .0002 seconds to hop completely on board the naked straddling train, and approximately .00004 seconds more to stand at full attention.

Derek had startled awake by the sudden increase in weight settled on him and just stared at Stiles for what felt like a full five minutes. His eyes seemed to bore into Stiles’ skin while his gaze slowly fell to his rapt dick. Surprisingly, rather than the disgusted/annoyed frown Stiles’ had been expecting, a look of amusement flashed over Derek’s face. Stiles had been sure he was going to be throttled for seemingly taking advantage of a sleeping Derek (as if he didn’t have enough bad history with being taken advantage of), but Derek had just reached up gently and dragged Stiles’ face down to his own…and kissed him.

It wasn’t a hungry kiss, or even a sexy one really; it felt more like a promise. Like a conversation he didn’t quite know how to have out loud yet. Derek’s hands had slid down Stiles’ taut, solid back until his fingertips dug into his hips. He had pulled him closer, dragging Stiles’ erection right into his stomach where his shirt had ridden up in sleep, giving him just enough friction and heat to make him moan with desire. Stiles had melted into him, his hands fumbling over Derek’s warm, furry chest, while his lips sang to life from Derek’s kiss. Everywhere Derek touched him his skin would tingle, like he was being electrocuted very, very slowly. He wasn’t used to even being noticed by people, let alone being cherished the way Derek’s soft caresses suggested. It thrilled and terrified him.

In general Stiles thought he had gotten better at reading Derek, but the whole situation was so far beyond his area of expertise he felt like he was drowning. He still couldn’t believe that Derek was willing to put up with him at all (not that Derek was always a joy to be around) let alone desire him in any way. It all felt too surreal. Stiles had been so desperate for affection, for physical touch, for some kind of emotional connection to someone for so long that he still partially wondered how real this relationship with Derek was. Maybe he was just settling for Derek because Derek was willing to settle for him. He had wanted to believe they had something more than that, but he had no basis of comparison, and Derek’s romantic history was less than healthy or helpful. He just wanted to be sure that they weren’t just screwing around out of convenience. It felt like more to him, without anything to really compare it to, it still felt like something significant. He wanted it to be something significant.

He had pulled back, just for a moment, just to look at Derek full on as he lay pliant beneath him, unhindered by Stiles’ nudity, completely indifferent to the erection digging into his stomach. Derek had watched him as he pulled away, a brief flash of terror passing over his face before being replaced by unadulterated affection. Stiles’ breath had caught in his lungs at the sheer tenderness in Derek’s eyes. There was no way he was faking; Derek was definitely all in. As Stiles looked back at him, smiling down at his bunny teeth and grumpy demeanor, and those ridiculous eyebrows that he just wanted to kiss for some strange reason, he realized that he was all in too. Even if this was his first real relationship, and even if it had started under bizarre circumstances, he had somehow managed to hit the jackpot fresh out of the gate. He had grinned down at Derek, at his mate, thrilled with the realization. He had stared into his eyes lovingly and whispered the three words that he never thought he would get to.

“Wanna have sex?”

Derek had understandably laughed at Stiles’ flippant proposition, but they both needed the tension to be broken. Stiles could practically feel the panic rising in Derek’s chest as the full weight of their relationship, and the newfound confirmation of it, settled in his mind.

Unfortunately, just as Derek started to give an actual answer, the loft door was thrown open and the entire pack had filed back in, arms laden with groceries. Except for Erica, whose hands were busy with her phone as she filmed the pair of them on the bed. Stiles had immediately bolted for cover, trying, and failing, to hide himself with his hands as he tripped up the staircase.

\- -

 

The bathroom door creaked open slowly, breaking Stiles from his embarrassment spiral.

“Dude, so not in the mood right now,” Stiles warned through the shower curtain to whomever was dumb enough to bother him.

“Not what it looked like a minute ago,” Derek deadpanned. Stiles couldn’t stop the giggle that burst out of him. He forgot that Derek could be really inappropriately funny when he wanted to be.

“You’re not funny.”

“Liar,” Derek said confidently. “Don’t worry, I deleted the photos. And the video. And Erica has to run ten laps around the preserve as penance,” he offered in consolation. Stiles perked up slightly at the idea of Erica having to run; he knew how much she hated that part of their training.

“I also brought you some clothes,” he added quietly, voice suddenly cautious.

“Thanks.” Stiles shut the water off and watched the puddle at his feet swirl down the drain. His dick had finally calmed back down, but he was suddenly nervous about Derek seeing him naked. After everything that had happened between them, and the realization that they were both in this for real, being naked in front of each other suddenly held a lot more meaning in Stiles’ mind. Derek seemed to recognize his hesitancy and started to shuffle towards the door.

“I’ll just, leave you to change I guess,” Derek offered dejectedly. Stiles could feel the twinge of rejection flicker through him as he opened the door. He peeked out from behind the curtain just in time to see Derek’s retreating back, his shoulders sagged solemnly and his head hung low. He had never looked more like a kicked puppy in his life.

“Um,” he started eloquently, trying to think of anything to say to make that miserable look go away. Derek turned to face him expectantly.

“Can you hand me a towel?” Stiles silently cursed his stupid mouth for not coming up with something better, but Derek seemed to understand where Stiles’ intentions truly lay. With a smirk he tossed a towel right at his face. “Thanks asshole. Now will you shut the door? You’re letting the warm out.”

Derek straightened his back and moved to exit the room, purposefully misinterpreting Stiles’ request. But Stiles reached out and grabbed his wrist, nearly face planting onto the floor in the process.

“I meant shut the door from this side,” Stiles admitted bashfully. Derek smiled shyly as he pulled the door closed again and helped Stiles out of the shower. Before Stiles could argue, Derek grabbed the towel and started drying him off, gently massaging his scalp before draping the towel over his shoulders and shimmying it down his back. Stiles just stood still, dumbfounded by the intimacy of the action, watching Derek’s pleased face as he wiped down Stiles’ arms.

“So is this a wolf thing or something? Because I did not expect you to actually help me get dressed.” Derek blinked up at him, momentarily startled, as if he had forgotten Stiles was an actual person standing in the room with him. Stiles’ heart clenched at the sight of the blush creeping up Derek’s face and neck.

“Sorry,” the alpha whispered, handing the towel back to Stiles. “I don’t know what I was doing. It just felt…natural.” Stiles could hear the truth and confusion in his words. He had to admit, it hadn’t exactly felt strange to have Derek caring for him; he just knew that it should have felt strange.

“I, I didn’t mean for you to stop,” Stiles stuttered coyly. Derek smirked at his embarrassment and wrapped the towel around his waist, tucking the ends in slowly so he could drag his fingers against Stiles’ damp skin.

“I think this should fit. It’s older, so it should be small enough,” Derek said as he pulled out the shirt he had brought in. It was an old Beacon Hills baseball jersey, number 13. The name HALE was emblazoned across the back.

Derek was offering him his own clothes? Why did that make his stomach flip so much? Stiles swallowed down the butterflies bouncing in his chest and held his arms up with a smirk. He knew he had to look ridiculous, expecting Derek to actually dress him, but he wanted to see how far he could push him. He was nothing if not obnoxiously insistent. To his ultimate surprise Derek actually smiled back and pulled the shirt up and over Stiles arms until it was settled comfortably onto his lanky frame.

“I gotta admit, I did not expect you to actually do that,” Stiles laughed as he shrugged into the shirt more comfortably.

“Wouldn’t want you to injure yourself. You know how clumsy you are,” Derek teased. Stiles frowned at him with mock disappointment.

“I’ll have you know I have managed to dress myself perfectly well for at least two years now. At least.” Derek’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“That many years, huh? I’m impressed,” he returned playfully.

“So,” Stiles began, looking down at the rest of the clothes Derek had brought, “is there underwear in there or am I going commando?” Derek glanced down at the pile timidly, blush rising further up his cheeks.

“There’s underwear. But it’s mine too. If you’re okay with that.” His voice trailed off and his eyes flicked back up to gauge Stiles’ expression. Stiles just hoped he wasn’t blushing as hard as it felt like he was; the thought of wearing Derek’s underwear seemed entirely too arousing, but irresponsibly delightful at the same time.

“I could be okay with that,” he sputtered out, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably. He could hear the pack snorting with laughter from the floor below. Of course they were using their senses to spy on him. God forbid anyone in the pack ever get a sense of privacy. Derek glared down at the floor as if the pack could see his menacing look, but Stiles just sighed in resignation.

“How about I just get dressed and we go back down and beat some sense into them?”

Surprisingly, Derek grinned up at him and Stiles’ breath caught in his throat. For some reason he had never been on the receiving end of a genuine Derek Hale grin. A smile, yes. A smirk, definitely. He’d even received a laugh once or twice. But that grin…it was equal parts playful, devastatingly attractive, and pure evil. His sharp, dangerous teeth seemed to glint against his deep red lips. It was like a promise of blood and bone, pain and power, all in one simple gesture. In that small expression Stiles finally saw the alpha that Derek could become. He gaped at him as Derek stared back expectantly.

Shit. Had he said something?

“Wuh,” Stiles asked eloquently. Derek’s grin turned even more mischievous as he repeated himself.

“I said, maybe we can teach them a lesson about listening into other’s private conversations.”

He stepped forward with a sway of his hips and slid his hand around Stiles’ waist. Stiles couldn’t help the squeak that fell from his lips as Derek’s hand dipped under the towel to clutch at his still damp ass. Derek pulled him forward until their chests were nearly pressed together, their scents mingling into that heady combination that was purely them. Stiles felt more than heard the whine escape his lips.

“What did you have mind, tough guy,” he asked shakily. He tried to tell himself it came across as sultry, but he knew he sounded anxious more than anything.

Derek’s other hand slowly slid up Stiles’ chest until his fingers were wrapped around his jaw. With a quick flick of his wrist Stiles’ head was tilted up, exposing his long pale neck. He shivered with anticipation as Derek’s teeth dragged along the expanse of fragile skin, his warm breath ghosting across the taut muscles, his soft lips caressing the stubble burned area. He let out a needy whine before tucking his nose into Stiles’ neck and breathing deeply. Stiles’ own moan drowned out the whine as Derek pulled their bodies flush against one another. He bit down lightly on and sucked the skin into his mouth, massaging it gently with his tongue as Stiles writhed beneath him from the sensation. Stiles gasped as Derek’s tongue flicked out over his Adam’s apple, catching it gently between his teeth. The low rumbling purr that came from somewhere deep in Derek’s throat seemed to fill the tiny room.

“OHMYGOD, we get it! We won’t listen in anymore. Jesus. Just wait until we’re not here to start screwing each other!” The pack’s cries of outrage and disgust broke Stiles and Derek from the moment and Stiles fell forward in a fit of giggles. Derek cradled his head against his chest and laughed right along with him.

“Serves them right,” he whispered into Stiles’ hair, following it up with a quick kiss. A warm glow of happiness spread between them, intensified by their shared bond. Even though it had been an embarrassing morning, it was still turning out to be a really good day. Stiles pulled away and reached for the clothes Derek had brought up, tossing on the underwear and pants, wiggling his hips as he did, partly for Derek’s benefit, and partly because he was wearing Derek’s underwear and wanted to feel every bit of it that he could. It didn’t make a lot of sense, but he didn’t care. Derek waited patiently for him to finish dressing before opening the door and ushering him back down stairs.

“You two are gross, I hope you know that,” Erica whined as they rejoined the pack, quickly taking in the borrowed clothing that Stiles was wearing with a skeptical raise of her eyebrow. Boyd just gave her a placating smile while Isaac and Scott tried to find anything else in the loft to look at other than Stiles or Derek. Lis bounded up to them with a box of donuts.

“You kinda ran away before we could offer you breakfast.” She glanced at the clock on the wall with a grimace. “Well I guess it’s technically more like lunch now,” she corrected. Stiles didn’t care either way, he could see a strawberry jam filled donut peeking out of the box and it was calling his name. He snatched the powder covered donut and bit into it gleefully, letting out a moan of happiness as the jam dripped down his chin.

“Omg, enough with the sex noises dude. I haven’t heard this many moans since we went to camp the year after we figured out how to jack off and didn’t realize that tents aren’t soundproof,” Scott complained vehemently. The rest of the pack stared at him blankly, unsure of how or whether they should react. Stiles simply burst out laughing, spraying powdered sugar everywhere.

“Dude, I totally forgot about that. I’m pretty sure that’s why the scouts never invited us back, man.” Scott’s frown broke back into a grin. “And anyway you all suck and deserve every annoying thing I can possibly do to you for the next week. Seriously, I kind of hate all of you right now.”

The pack had the decency to look slightly ashamed for a moment. But only for a moment before the giggling started up again.

“Screw all of you,” Stiles groaned over the growing laughter. He stomped over to the bed petulantly and started digging through his clothes for his phone. If it really was afternoon he should have heard from his dad by now. He flicked the phone on and saw one new message. It was from 4:00am and was a simple ‘Still looking. Should be home by midmorning’. Stiles glanced back at the time on his phone. 12:34pm. Stiles opened up the dialer and punched in his father’s number. Maybe he had just gotten home and crashed and forgot to let Stiles know, assuming Stiles was still with the pack. He propped the phone against his shoulder as he began picking up and folding his pile of clothes. His father picked up on the third ring.

“Hey pops, hope I didn’t wake you. You at home resting up,” Stiles asked cheerfully, trying to keep the worry from his voice. There was a pause before he answered; Stiles could hear breathing and something clanging in the background. Maybe his dad was making food.

“Hello Stiles, it’s been a while,” a low, gravelly voice drawled into the phone. Ice flooded Stiles’ veins as his heart stopped dead in his chest. Derek’s eyes snapped up, watching Stiles carefully, taking in the rigid change in posture, the spike in anxiety and fear. “It seems your father ran into a bit of trouble last night. I think he may need your help. In fact he might need your whole pack’s help. You know how dangerous hunters can be.”

Rage flamed through Stiles’ chest, burning through his body as he stood frozen to the spot, listening to the sinister burr that threatened his family. Derek crept up behind him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, trying desperately to figure out what was wrong.

“If you hurt him,” Stiles seethed into the receiver, “I promise you I will rip your skin from your body and make you fucking eat it.” The pack startled at the venom in Stiles’ voice. Their eyes tracked his every movement, watching him like hawks for some explanation. The voice on the phone chuckled at his warning.

“You’ve always been one to speak large, Stiles. But you lack conviction,” the voice spat back. “Oh and Stiles, you might want to hurry. He’s not looking too well.”

The call clicked off, leaving Stiles with a burning hatred boiling in his blood and a static dial tone ringing in his ears. He could hear the phone crunching in his grip as his hands tightened into fists, the words ringing through his mind. ‘He’s not looking too well.’ His father was hurt, possibly dying, because of him. Guilt surged through the rage, twisting into it until Stiles felt like punishing himself more than anything.

“Stiles,” Derek’s calm voice asked from behind him, “What’s going on?” The pack stepped forward, waiting with bated breath. Stiles’ looked up at them, eyes burning amber as he did.

“The hunters have my father. Their leader has my father.”

Kaliska and Taipa sucked in a breath, reaching out for each other in fear. The pack stepped forward further, righteous anger filling them with energy.

“The kanuma has your father,” Lis asked quietly, almost reverently, as if the man who captured him was some kind of god and speaking his name would seal the sheriff’s fate. But Stiles knew that wasn’t the case. He knew the man. He knew that he was no god. He was barely human.

“That’s not his name.” Lis stared at him in horror as realization dawned on her.

“You know him? You know the kanuma,” she asked eagerly. The pack turned a mixture of questioning and impressed looks at him. Stiles nodded once, solemnly. He was settling his nerves, steeling his resolve. He needed to save his father. Nothing else mattered. He could deal with the kanuma. He wasn’t some mythical beast. He was a man. A bitter, hateful, pitiful excuse for a man, but a man nonetheless. Stiles swallowed down the last of his shock and panic and looked back up at his pack, resolve burning in his eyes.

“So who is it,” Isaac asked finally, impatience getting the better of him. Stiles turned to him slowly, his eyes dark with anger.

“Gerard.”

A collective gasp raced around the room. They hadn’t ever confirmed whether or not he had died, but Stiles guessed they had their answer now. Gerard was alive and well, and holding his father hostage. Stiles turned back to face Derek, squaring his shoulders determinedly. Derek could feel the confusion and anger and pain and guilt swirling through Stiles’ mind. He could feel the hatred burning through him. But more than any of that, he could see the resolve in Stiles eyes as he spoke the next five words; the five words that dripped with so much promise and disgust that Derek couldn’t even argue with him. Stiles stared right in his eyes, heart beating fast, but steady, and declared his intentions to his alpha, his mate, and his pack.

“I’m going to kill him.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to apologize for the unexpected delay preceding this post. Some stuff came up (some bad, i.e. being crazy sick for a month; some awesome, i.e. going to comic con and meeting a shit ton of awesome people) and writer's block decided to rear its ugly head and...I can make excuses all day, but basically it comes down to me sucking. So, sorry for that. I will try my absolute hardest to make sure you never have to wait this long again. 
> 
> If you've stuck with me this long, I want you to know that I truly appreciate it. You are my main reason for continuing. I dedicate all of this to you. I hope I can live up to your (and my) expectations, and that the wait was worth it. If not, feel free to ream me out in the comments.

The sheriff’s eyes blinked open to a rough hand rummaging through his pockets. He bolted upright out of habit, but was quickly pushed back down into the hard chair by multiple pairs of strong arms. The abrupt gesture sent a tidal wave of pain through his head. _Perfect,_ he thought _, another head injury to add to my growing list, Stiles is never going to let me leave the house again_. The thought of Stiles sent a pang or regret and guilt through him. He had promised to be safe, he had promised to come home, and there he was breaking that promise, yet again.

 

Three men surrounded him and started placing iron manacles around his wrists and ankles. The sheriff thrashed against them, knowing it was useless, but unwilling to lay back and accept the situation. Iron chains like the ones being attached to him had gone out of fashion decades earlier; he vaguely wondered if they were antiques as he lost the struggle against the heavy arms holding him down. He tried to settle himself and think logically about his situation: he was definitely being held against his will by very prepared persons unknown, for reasons unknown, in a location unknown. Okay, maybe he needed more information before he tried to think his way out.

 

The men stepped back, giving the sheriff a clear view of them as they took a moment to admire their own handy work. The sheriff watched them closely, parsing out every detail he could. The men all wore heavy work clothes, the kind you typically saw on construction workers: durable, meant for long wear and heavy use, but their boots seemed to be more of the tactical variety. They were not unlike the ones he wore with his uniform: made for strength and support, but even more so for maneuverability. They were all dressed for down and dirty work which was not a comforting realization.

 

One of the men, the youngest by the looks of it, moved with a hitch to his step, as if he wasn’t quite used to carrying a gun in his belt. The sheriff had seen it plenty of times on the rookies at the station; carrying a deadly weapon tucked into your clothes as if it wasn’t able to paralyze you or worse if you happened to forget the safety took some getting used to. The other two men had actual holsters, one at his waist and one at the shoulder. Both had pistols, but he couldn’t determine the exact make. They looked old though, almost antique, like the chains. In the dim light he could just make out the telltale scrunch of their pant legs that signified hidden knives or guns strapped to their calves. The third man stayed behind them, shuffling his feet almost imperceptibly as if he wasn’t 100% on board with what was happening. Perhaps the third man was a rookie himself. Criminal organizations had to have rookies too, right?

 

It seemed strange to the sheriff the neither of the older men seemed to be in charge. They all seemed to be following someone else’s orders, which meant there had to be others nearby. Stranger yet was the fact that none of them were familiar. The sheriff frowned at the realization. Why the hell would a bunch of people he’d never met kidnap him? He was the sheriff for god’s sake. If they were just looking to cause trouble, there were plenty of easier and less noticeable targets.

 

“Alright, he’s not going anywhere,” the rookie said nervously, shuffling towards the door, “We’ve got other stuff to set up.” Before he even finished the thought one of the men slapped him in the back of the head.

 

“Yeah, and he don’t need to know that. Does he,” he challenged, getting right into the younger man’s face.

 

“This is the shit we’re talking about, plebe. You have to learn when to shut the hell up,” the other man explained as he pulled the two out of the room and closed the door behind himself.

 

The sheriff could still hear muffled chastising through the door as the men walked away. While he hadn’t been able to determine who the men were or why they had taken him, he at least knew that they were professionals (for the most part), which was not exactly good news. He took the opportunity to survey his surroundings, but he found little help in doing so.

 

The room he was in was dark, a single light bulb hung from a wire in the center of the room. How cliché, he thought. The edges of the room were thrown into shadow, other than the faint light trying to cut through the grime on the narrow window at the top of the wall to his right. It was either daytime and the windows were excessively dirty, or it was dusk. Or dawn. He couldn’t really be sure how long he had been knocked out. It had been nighttime when he was last conscious. He wished he could check his watch for the time, or even his phone.

 

His phone.

 

He started to shuffle, wiggling against his constraints to feel for the phone that should have been in his pocket like always. He realized belatedly that he had woken to the men digging through his pockets, most likely to take said phone.

 

“Perfect,” he sighed as he settled back into the chair. The air in the room smelled musty, like it hadn’t been used in years, but there was a putrid undertone that nearly made him gag. The cracked concrete floor and walls were littered with paper debris and wood chips. That, and the rancid smell, led the sheriff to belief he was in the basement of the old paper mill outside of town.

 

“Ok, paper mill,” he thought aloud to the empty room, a habit that all Stilinski men shared, “that means we’re in the middle of the woods, near the river with one very easily guarded access road leading to the building. A building that has two main exits and a million windows to watch for intruders. So a clandestine rescue operation is probably not a great option right now. Wonderful.” He shifted his shoulders impatiently, trying to stretch out the crick setting into his muscles from having his hands behind the chair for so long. The shackles rattled against his wrists, sending an oddly floral scent into the room.

 

He had to laugh at the irony. They had been searching all night for Reynard’s hideout, mainly checking the abandoned warehouses on the old side of town. He remembered warning Parrish not to wander into the basements alone, but had failed to heed his own words. He vaguely remembered someone dropping behind him as he entered one of the abandoned basements, but everything after that was a splitting headache and darkness.

 

Reynard. The memory came back in pieces. He had escaped with the help of his superior, a man who sounded like pure evil. It would make sense that they would go on the offensive if the police were getting too close. It would also follow Reynard’s M.O. to kidnap someone and take them to an abandoned building. At least he was slowly figuring out more information about his situation.

 

Suddenly the door opened and light flooded into the room. Through the open doorway the sheriff could see a table covered with metal traps, razor wire, barbed netting, and hundreds of shell casings. This was not just some boredom/vengeance induced kidnapping. This was a militant group, an organized group: one with a plan, and defenses. The hope of a rescue was dwindling by the second.

 

A silhouette of a man stepped in front of the doorway, blocking the table from view. The man sauntered into the room, letting the light from the single bulb wash over his startlingly familiar face. He looked different, more worn down, less polished, but it was definitely Gerard Argent. He had been the principal at Beacon Hills for a few months the previous year. His theory about Reynard seemed to be cracking before his eyes. What the hell was Gerard Argent doing there? The sheriff racked his brain for any explanation as to why the ex-principal of his son’s school would want, or have the ability, to kidnap him. He didn’t know where to start with the questions.

 

“I know you,” the sheriff announced unnecessarily. The eerie smirk on the old man’s face proved that he had meant to be remembered. He stepped further into the room, stumbling slightly on a piece of scrap wood. The sheriff watched as the old frail man dragged a chair over from the darkened corner of the room, stopping every few feet to use it as a crutch. He flopped down into the seat with a grunt, twisting his hands together in an almost twitchy, compulsive way. Something was off about him. His eyes were fierce and dangerous, but his body moved like he was in pain, the kind that had no real cause, and no real solution.

 

“That you do, sheriff,” Gerard drawled back with a nod. “Although I’m certain you don’t know why you are here. Or why I am here for that matter.” Gerard stared him down, daring him to refute, but the sheriff held the man’s gaze and kept his face perfectly blank. Even if he didn’t know what the hell was going on, there was no way he was going to blatantly admit it to his presumed kidnapper. Gerard smiled broadly, the grin never quite reaching his devious eyes.

 

“I see,” Gerard said, almost as a compliment, “You are every bit the honorable, stubborn man I have been told about. I believe your son takes after those qualities as well, if not quite to the same degree.”

 

The sheriff bristled at the offhanded mention. The words were innocuous enough, but the threat was still there, just underneath; this man knew Stiles, and he was not above using him as a chess piece.

 

“I can see you are very concerned about that menace of a boy, as you should be. He has a terrible habit of showing up where he is not needed or wanted. He also has difficulty learning his lesson when he gets caught.” Gerard’s voice had an edge of anger to it as he finished. The sheriff glared back at him, slowly piecing together what was being said.

 

“And just what kind of lessons have you been teaching him,” he hissed out in a whisper. Gerard smirked back at him and smoothed his hands down his legs.

 

“Oh useful things,” he began, his voice falsely cloying, “Be cautious with whom you associate. Never forget your own limits. Respect your elders.” His eyes dropped to his hands and his fingers flexed into a fist before slowly opening again. The sheriff eyed the display warily.

 

“If I’m not mistaken, one of his closest associates is your granddaughter. Are you telling me she’s a hazard to my son’s well being? Or are you insinuating that he’s a hazard to hers?”

 

“Ah well,” Gerard’s voice rumbled as he continued, “Out of the two, I would definitely say Allison is the more dangerous. But I was speaking more directly about his other associates. Those abominations who shouldn’t even exist.”

 

The sheriff stared at him incredulously. He sounded like a cult leader, someone who felt worthy of deeming entire groups of people as “abominations”.

 

“Is that a threat,” he asked firmly. Gerard smiled back at him.

 

“No, my friend, that was a declaration,” he growled ominously. The sheriff straightened to look at him face on.

 

“I am the protector of this town. I will not allow you to bring harm to my son or any of his associates,” he growled back.

 

“Protector,” Gerard laughed. “You aren’t even aware of the filth and vermin that live in this town. How will you ever be able to protect it? No. I am its protector. I am the one who will do whatever must be done to keep it safe. Do not presume to know what I am capable of.”

 

The man stood abruptly, words still echoing through the room. He pulled out a phone that the sheriff recognized immediately as his own. The screen was lit up as an incoming call from Stiles registered.

 

“What delightful timing. Now you will get to see firsthand what I am capable of, and how much I will do to protect this town.” With a swipe of his finger, he raised the phone to his ear, eyes still locked on the sheriff’s.

 

“This is where we begin,” he said forebodingly. The sheriff could hear his son’s faint cheerful voice unknowingly chattering into the receiver, expecting to hear his father.

 

He listened as that cheerful voice turned to ice when Gerard spoke. The old man taunted him, spoke with a familiarity that was unsettling. Nothing he said made sense; he spoke of hunters and packs. The sheriff also noted the subtle threat to his own life mixed in the middle.

 

He didn’t know what Gerard was planning. He still didn’t know why he was involved in the first place. All he knew was that these people were serious and his son was in danger. He knew Stiles. He knew that his son would stop at nothing to get to him. But Stiles apparently had history with these people, and most likely not a good one. He could only hope that he was smart enough to stay away this time.

 

\--

 

“I’m going to kill him.”

 

The pack stood frozen in place, eyeing Stiles warily following his abrupt declaration. Stiles’ panic radiated off of him, making everyone in the room on edge. Derek stood firmly next to him, eyes locked on his face as if he were trying to delve straight into his mind, but Stiles seemed unaware that Derek was even in the room. He was lost in his own thoughts, trying desperately to hold back from lashing out at anything and everything around him. Derek closed his eyes and focused on Stiles’ heartbeat. He focused on that aching pull in his gut where Stiles’ pain was tearing its way into him, and called out.

 

_I know. I know how you feel. We’ll get him back. We will find him._ Stiles’ attention snapped to Derek’s face. He stepped forward, forcing himself into Derek’s space until they were a mere breath apart. His eyes burned fiery orange with anger and desperation, his teeth bared in a feral snarl.

 

“You have NO idea how I feel. Your family is dead. They aren’t here to be used as bait because of you,” Stiles hissed out, voice shaking with barely controlled rage, as he pushed hard into Derek’s chest. “My father knows nothing about any of this. Nothing! He’s going to die because I was dumb enough to ever associate with you!”

 

Derek’s eyes burned red as the words stabbed him, but he forced his face to fall blank. Stiles looked like he was ready to burst apart, whether from anger or despair Derek wasn’t sure, but he knew Stiles needed to vent. He knew he didn’t really mean it, any of it. Well, he hoped. It stung nonetheless. His mind was bombarded with the memory of his family and the home they once shared, the happiness they once felt. He did know exactly how Stiles felt: putting his entire family at risk because he fell in love with the wrong person. Guilt surged through him as hot bile rose in his throat. He swallowed it back, trying to shield his bitter self-hatred from Stiles and their bond. Stiles had enough emotions whirling through him without feeling Derek’s too. He looked at the boy in front of him: the lost, scared, confused little boy whose world was falling apart right before his eyes and who was powerless to stop it. Derek had never, ever, wanted anyone to feel the pain he had felt. He should have known he wouldn’t get what he wanted. He ignored his own hurt, the way he had trained himself to do so many years ago, and let Stiles focus his anger at him; he needed the outlet.

 

Scott stepped forward and cautiously reached a hand towards Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles jerked away from the touch, but the movement broke his concentration enough for him to realize who it was reaching for him. His eyes flickered back to their natural honey brown and he crashed forward onto Scott’s shoulder, letting his best friend wrap him in a crushing hug.

 

“We’re going to find him, Stiles. Don’t worry. We won’t let them take him from you,” Scott breathed into Stiles’ shaking shoulders.

 

The pack ignored the silent sobs in favor of turning to Derek for direction. The alpha stared back at them blankly, eyes flicking between his expectant betas and his miserable mate. He wanted to let Stiles take the lead on this one; it was his father, his vendetta, his plot to plan. But his betas needed direction now. His pack needed him now.

 

“Inform the police that the sheriff has been taken, then get Jackson, Lydia, and their computer friend back here immediately,” Derek instructed. “We need everyone. Get back here as quick as you can.” He dismissed the three betas with a nod of his head and watched them silently exit the loft, shoulders set with determination. Kaliska and Taipa hung back, shuffling into the kitchen to give the others space.

 

Derek rocked back and forth, debating whether or not he should approach Stiles and Scott; his instincts told him that his mate was in distress and needed help, but he knew that Stiles, the actual person Stiles, was used to being comforted by Scott. He knew that Stiles needed familiarity more than his weird new instincts, but it went against every urge in his body.

 

Slowly Stiles pulled away from Scott’s shoulder, wiping his eyes and grimacing at the wet stain he had left on his best friend’s shirt.

 

“Sorry, bro, that is seriously not attractive,” Stiles joked lamely, still sniffling lightly. He drifted further away as Scott assessed the stain on his shirt. His eyes never shifted from Scott, but his feet shuffled him closer and closer to Derek, almost subconsciously.

 

“So what do we do,” Scott asked calmly, keeping his voice purposefully neutral. He watched Stiles closely, gauging his reaction with a practiced precision that honestly surprised Derek.

 

“We have to save him,” Stiles said brokenly as his hand blindly reached for Derek’s, “I can’t lose anyone else.” Derek breathed a sigh of relief as Stiles wound their fingers together and squeezed in apology, still watching Scott unblinkingly. He felt Stiles’ pulse slow as he leeched some of the physical ache from his tormented body. There wasn’t a lot he could do for Stiles at the moment, but his instincts screamed at him to help, even if it was the only way he could.

 

Scott watched the subtle exchange unfold, but made no mention of it.

 

“Should we leave this up to the police? I mean, he is the sheriff, they’re going to be pretty invested in finding him quickly,” Scott suggested hopefully. He knew Stiles would never sit by on the sidelines while his father was in danger, but he also knew that Stiles needed to be reminded that actual law enforcement was involved in the situation. Stiles rubbed a hand down over his face in a familiar gesture as he considered the idea for a moment.

 

“I don’t know, man. Technically, missing persons cases need to be at least 48 hours. He is the sheriff, so they might push it to 24, but that’s still another 10 hours before they can really do anything,” he grumbled. “But they can sure as hell track him easier than we can. Nothing against your noses or anything, but I know I’m not gonna be able to pick out his scent.” He shifted his weight anxiously, still trying to figure out any reasonable course of action.

 

“They’re bringing Danny,” Scott reminded him softly. “He’ll be able to track the phone.”

 

“I can track the stupid phone,” Stiles snapped suddenly. “That doesn’t mean I’ll be able to figure out anything about where they’re holding him, how many hunters there are, how hurt he already is. Tracking a phone is the least of our problems right now.”

 

Scott nodded sagely, somehow unhurt by Stiles’ harsh words. Derek was impressed. He had never really seen the two fight before, but apparently they handled it rather well.

 

“Ok, so we’ll start there,” Scott decided. “You have your computer, right? Start tracking down his phone. It’ll at least give us an idea of where to look.”

 

Stiles stared back at him, his expression a mixture of disbelief and adoration. Scott apparently knew when to take control of a situation to pull Stiles out of his own head. Derek tried to hide his jealousy. He knew logically that Stiles had known Scott for many more years than he had known Derek, but it still stung that someone else was better at consoling his mate. Stiles nodded slowly, as if he was still letting everything sink in, but soon wandered away to find his computer after another quick squeeze of Derek’s hand.

 

Derek watched Stiles slink away, shoulders slightly less sloped, anger and fear slightly less present. They were doing something and that seemed to be enough to keep him going. Scott suddenly stepped into his line of vision wearing a concerned scowl. Derek blinked down at him as he took in a deep breath and steeled himself.

 

“I want to bring Allison and her father in.”

 

Derek’s blank stare turned to a fierce scowl in no time.

 

“You do realize it’s their family holding the sheriff hostage right now, right,” Derek asked a little harsher than necessary. Scott rolled his eyes, a minor, but obvious sign of disrespect.

 

“No. Gerard is holding him hostage. Nobody in their family considers him one of them anymore. I think they barely considered him one of them when he was here,” Scott mused.

 

“And yet they did everything he told them to, without question. Scott this is their family. No matter how shitty. Would you be able to go in and kill your own father,” Derek asked heatedly.  Scott squared his shoulders and stepped forward, attempting to make himself seem more confident, but Derek could see the hesitation in his eyes.

 

“Yes,” Scott whispered, full of false bravado. Derek scoffed and turned away, folding his arms over his chest as he looked out the wall of windows.

 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Scott. You don’t know what it does to you to kill your own flesh and blood.” Derek’s eyes fell to the floor, flashes of his decimated family streaming through his mind. “The Argents may not associate with Gerard anymore, but he’s still family. They’ll never forget that.”

 

Scott stayed silent behind Derek. He stared down at his feet, contrite as Stiles bounded back into the room with his laptop and propped it up on the table. His eyes skittered back and forth between Scott and Derek, noting the tense air. Derek was sure he could feel the painful memories clawing through their bond and he tried to stop them, but there were too many. His wounds were still raw from opening up in the first place and he couldn’t build his walls back up quick enough. Stiles abandoned his computer and approached slowly, hands outstretched in a soothing gesture.

 

“It’s ok,” he whispered as his fingers gripped at Derek’s arms forcefully. “I can take it. You’re not alone anymore.” Derek’s eyes flicked up to Stiles open, kind face. He was supposed to be the support right now. Stiles’ father was the one in trouble. Stiles was the one who should be falling apart. But there he was, solid as ever, reaching out to comfort Derek as if his own world wasn’t turned upside down. Derek slowly unfolded his arms and wrapped them around Stiles’ waist. His head fell down onto Stiles’ shoulder. He could feel the warmth of his mate spreading through him, like stepping into a warm bath. It was as if all of his troubles were melting away.

 

Derek pushed back suddenly as realization took hold. He scowled at Stiles where he swayed slightly on his feet.

 

“I didn’t want you to do that. You’ve got enough on your mind. You’re going to wear yourself out,” Derek scolded. Stiles rolled his eyes and pulled Derek back into him, tucking his face close against his neck so he could breathe in the comforting scent of his mate. Derek couldn’t help but relax against the solid welcoming heat. He let the fuzzy warmth spread through him completely and breathed in the sweet scent of home.

 

“I am perfectly capable of handling your baggage, Derek,” Stiles whispered into his hair. “Besides, it’s only tiring for a couple minutes and then I’ll be fine. We need you at your best. Especially since you’re the only one with real fighting experience. Although, I can’t remember you winning any fights off hand…” Derek squeezed Stiles closer as a punishment for his insult, but Stiles simply huffed out a laugh and squeezed back, wrapping his arms even tighter around Derek.

 

Scott followed the conversation with a confused expression stretching across his face. Stiles laughed at his best friend’s quizzical eyebrow. It had been a while since he’d seen that expression. Scott threw he hands out in a ‘what the hell?’ gesture, pulling another giggle from Stiles.

 

“So it turns out I’m kind of an empath. Like Cordelia Frost in X-Men,” he announced excitedly. Scott’s expression remained the same.

 

“You still haven’t read those comics I lent you, have you?” Scott had the decency to look chastened for a moment, but the confused expression returned all too quickly.

 

“Ugh, you are hopeless,” Stiles muttered. “You know how you can pull physical pain from people, and animals I suppose?” Scott nodded slowly, as if he thought it might be a trick question. (Which was honestly not unlikely when it came to Stiles.) “Well I can do the same thing. Except with emotional stuff.” Scott stared blankly for a moment.

 

“You’re saying Derek has emotions?”

 

Stiles tried to hide his snort of laughter, but it was mainly drowned out by the growl rumbling through Derek’s chest. He ran his hand up Derek’s back and wound his fingers into his soft thick hair. The growling stopped as Stiles’ nails began to scratch gently at his scalp. It was good to know that they both enjoyed that particular activity.

 

“Dude, rude,” Stiles chastised. “But yes, Derek does. A lot. That he hides, very, very deep down inside. Which is not healthy,” he added in Derek’s direction. Derek shrugged a shoulder a burrowed deeper into Stiles’ neck, basking in the comfortable glow of happiness. He felt Stiles head drop down on his shoulder and for a moment it felt like the world had stopped, like they were the only two people in the room and none of the horrible things happening were real. He imagined in that moment what it would be like to be with Stiles for real: to live together, forever. To deal with each other’s crap for the rest of their lives, the good and the bad. To have each other to lean on, to want to have each other, to want to lean on each other. He imagined what it would be like to have a family again, to be vulnerable, and for that to be okay. In that one peaceful moment, it was everything he could have ever wanted.

 

_Thank you._ He melted further into the crushing hug Stiles responded with. He felt completely enveloped in Stiles, feeling his solid body against him, his warm spirit flowing through him, breathing in his glorious scent. Suddenly Stiles’ voice rang through his mind as well.

 

_You have to trust me_. Derek frowned at the comment as he felt Stiles lift his head to look back at Scott.

 

“Go get Allison and Chris.” Derek stiffened at Stiles’ words. He tried to pull away, but Stiles locked his arms around him and kept him in place.

 

_Trust me._

 

Scott opened his mouth to comment, but quickly shut it.

 

“We need to know more about these hunters. They’re our best bet. Take Taipa and Lis with you, explain everything you can. From the beginning if need be. But get back here quickly,” Stiles instructed. The two women appeared at Scott’s side within seconds, looking nervous, but resolute.

 

“What about Gerard? He is family to them,” Scott questioned. Derek was surprised that his words had actually made an impact.

 

“Not a problem. They won’t have to deal with him,” Stiles said coldly, his voice growing darker by the moment. “When it comes to that point, I’ll take care of it. Nobody fucks with my family.”

 

Derek could feel the burning rage building in Stiles’ chest. He could feel the determination setting into his bones. Even without listening to his heart, he knew Stiles was serious. He just hoped he wouldn’t live to regret it.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Sorry for the delay, again. I'm trying. I've been traveling a bit and there has been unreliable internet for the past few days and it has made posting a bit difficult. Hopefully you don't hate me too much for it. 
> 
> Once again, I appreciate all the helpful and lovely comments! You guys are the best, and you totally make this whole experience worthwhile. I just hope that I can continue to meet your standards. (Also, reminder, if you catch ANYTHING I do that's wrong, either in canon or from earlier in the story, PLEASE point it out. I will fix it. I do not want to have shoddy continuity, but my mind can get rather scattered at times. Thank you!)
> 
> Ok, now onto the drama.

Scott, Taipa, and Lis sat on the large couch in the Argent’s living room. The room was anxiously silent. Chris stood across the room, eying them warily as they politely waited for him to speak. His eyes continually flicked back to Taipa every few seconds, his gaze scrutinizing, as if he should know her. Allison sat in the chair in front of him, watching their three guests with an astute curiosity. 

Allison had been instrumental in getting Chris to even speak with Scott. He had shown up, unannounced, with two strangers in tow and put on his best ‘kicked puppy’ face just to gain entry into the house. Allison had tried, and failed, to hide the delight in her eyes at seeing Scott, even with the two unknown, and vaguely threatening associates he had brought along. (Although Lis had introduced herself cheerfully enough upon seeing Allison; she had been concerned about meeting with hunters, but Allison’s easy demeanor and practically glowing smile had put her at ease.)

Taipa, however, was less inclined to lower her guard. She had given a short nod in greeting, but kept her hands firmly at her sides which seemed to make her plentiful dark tattoos look even more menacing. Her reaction actually reminded Scott of Derek’s interactions with the hunter family. He remembered the story she had told in the hospital and how closed off she had seemed even as she recounted her and Lis’ entire history. He realized suddenly that there was probably more to that story than they knew, details that she still wasn’t comfortable sharing, details still too raw in her mind to talk about. Taipa probably had more reason to distrust anyone who called themself a hunter than the entire Beacon Hills pack combined. Except for maybe Derek. 

Allison had invited them in casually and forced her father to talk to them. Chris had seemed insulted by the unprompted visit at first, but he kept himself cordial, at his daughter’s behest. 

The discussion had started slowly, mainly consisting of Scott and Allison exchanging pleasantries in the hopes of dragging the others into the conversation. Lis had stared at the floor, fidgeting slightly as if she wanted to speak, but didn’t know how or whether she was allowed. Taipa and Chris had stared at each other for a long while, sizing each other up, trying to silently determine the trustworthiness of the other without a word. 

Eventually Scott broke from the pleasantries and threw their business out on the table. 

“We need your help,” he announced abruptly, shattering the tense silence of the room. Chris’ eyes snapped to Scott’s face, a scowl of disbelief setting across his own. 

“Why?”  
He chose his words carefully, making sure he only told Chris what he needed him to know. He didn’t want Chris to know that they had the sheriff. If it turned out that he was still on those rogue hunters’ side, Scott didn’t want him to know how much leverage they already had.

“There are other hunters in town. Other than Rey and his...friends. These are more dangerous. And we need to figure out who they are and why they’re here.” 

Allison’s surprised gaze flicked between Scott and her father, clearly unaware that another faction of hunters had arrived. 

“I meant why should we help you,” Chris clarified with a sneer. Allison glared back at him and motioned for him to knock off the attitude and sit with them. It turned into a rather strange motion, but Chris seemed to understand and begrudgingly obliged. 

“I know we haven’t always been on the best of terms,” Scott said with an exasperated sigh, “but you know we’re not a danger to anyone.” He ignored Chris’ scoff and continued. “We keep to ourselves as much as possible, and if anything we try to protect Beacon Hills.”

“Protect it,” Chris mocked, “Like you protected my sister? Or my father? Or how about my wife?” His voice was thick with emotion, a good portion of it being bitter hatred. His rage filled eyes bore into Scott’s. “All your pack has ever done is destroy my family.” 

Scott shrank back against the couch defeated. He had really expected this to go differently. Chris was always so even tempered; he never expected him to be holding onto this much venomous hatred. His icy glare refused to leave Scott’s face, needing a direction for the wrath undoubtedly bubbling up inside of him. 

“Dad, you know they only fought to protect themselves.” Allison’s calm voice whispered across the room. Scott straightened slightly, surprised that Allison was willing to forgive the past so easily. He knew that mistakes had been made on both sides of the fight in the past. Allison had yet to fully recover from her grandfather’s manipulative hold over her, and the pack was still leery of her involvement. But Scott had still not expected her to be the first to forgive. She reached out and wrapped her father’s hand in her own, drawing his eyes back to her face. He softened at Allison’s calm smile, the only family he had left. Or so he thought. 

“We need to hear them out. Our family may not have the hold over this town that it once did, but we should have known there was another family here,” she explained patiently. Scott knew that Chris technically had to listen to her, since their code dictated that she was the decision maker of the family, but he still held his breath and waited for a response. Chris huffed out a sigh and nodded once, turning back to the other couch with an icy stare. 

“Please continue,” Allison urged, still clutching her father’s hand. Surprisingly Lis decided to take over.

“You don’t know me, and I understand that you have no reason to trust me, but these people here, Scott and the rest of the pack…they’ve agreed to help us even though they barely know us and have no obligation to. I am a - ,” she stopped suddenly and looked to her grandmother for approval. Surprisingly she then turned to Scott as well. Both nodded, shocked and wary at her openness. Scott watched her as she continued, amazed by the faith she had in the pack to protect her. Taipa kept her cool glare focused on Chris, daring him to contest.

“I am a fox,” Lis announced without preamble. Chris and Allison exchanged a curious look before turning back to face her. “Well, Stiles calls me a werefox, but I don’t know if that’s what I really am. I wasn’t bitten or anything, I just am.” The Argents continued to watch her dubiously as she rambled. It seemed she was already picking up some of the pack’s habits. Scott gave her a slight tap on the knee to bring her back to the point. 

“Anyway, the point is I wasn’t always like this. I was actually perfectly normal as a child, back when I was tricked by Rey…Reynard.” The Argents perked up at the mention of their estranged cousin. “He was with a group of men who wanted to destroy my tribe. I still don’t fully understand why. They seemed to think we were hiding something, that we weren’t who or what we said we were.”

Taipa’s glare narrowed as Allison and Chris watched Lis with skeptical eyes. Chris suddenly bolted upright, recognition lighting his face as he pointed an accusing finger at Taipa.

“You,” he seethed, “You’re the one who disfigured Rey.”

Taipa tried not to look too pleased with herself as she frowned back at Argent, but Scott didn’t think she really managed. 

“They tried to burn my tribe alive for no reason,” Taipa said slowly, as if the Argents had trouble understanding language. Chris opened his hand and gestured to Lis angrily. 

“Their reason is currently sitting on my couch.” Taipa’s glare turned from ice to fire. She opened her mouth, ready to attack Chris’ logic, but Lis stopped her with a firm slap on the arm. She broke from her heated trance and stared at her granddaughter with wide eyes. Lis turned back to Chris apologetically. 

“I wasn’t like this when they found us. I wasn’t like this when they surrounded our camp and prepared fireballs to wipe us out with. I wasn’t like this until after their attack failed. I don’t know how it happened, but I changed. Coyote decided to teach us about our choices by changing me. He actually saved me in a way, by making me into something smaller, more evasive. Something harder to catch. But at the time, he made me a target for a vengeful bigot. 

“I know now that the men after us are hunters and that they want me dead simply because of what I am, even though I never asked to be this way. We have only ever defended ourselves. We do not kill. We’ve done nothing but run for our lives since that day. Our running eventually led us here.” She paused for a moment, considering how to continue as she bit her lip to force it to stop trembling. But she needn’t have worried because Scott stepped back in and took over.

“The hunters thought their tribe was a pack. I don’t know who those hunters were other than Rey, but they apparently didn’t really do the whole research or proof thing at the time. They’ve been chasing her for a few years and now they’ve started to attack us. They kidnapped Stiles a week ago. We got him back with the help of Taipa, but they’ve started sending him threats now. We just want everyone to be safe.”

Chris’ piercing gaze landed on each of them, analyzing the validity of their story. He turned to Scott with one eyebrow cocked skeptically.

“I’m not saying I believe you. I’m also not saying whether I know of any other hunters in town. But if they’re after your pack, why would they take the one human rather than any of the rest of you?”

Scott shifted anxiously in his seat debating how much information he should share. He knew that Kaliska hadn’t meant to hurt Stiles when she turned him. He also knew that Chris had a habit of ignoring intentions when it came to people being turned. Allison caught his gaze and smiled encouragingly at him. She had to know that Stiles was different, maybe she was saying it was okay to spill the beans. Scott hissed out a sigh and turned back to Chris, steeling himself for the backlash.

“Stiles may or may not also be a werefox-thing.” He winced at his own ineloquent words. Explanations had never been his strong suit; he usually let Stiles attempt, and would sit back and watch him put his foot in his mouth. Chris’ eyes narrowed to a point as he studied Kaliska. 

“And how exactly did that happen,” he asked knowingly. Lis squirmed under his gaze, leaning further back out of some primal preservation instinct. Taipa suddenly sat forward, drawing Chris’ attention from her granddaughter. 

“She was being chased. He was out in the woods, alone, surrounded by wolves and men with guns. She tried to protect him. She wanted him to be stronger.” Her husky voice rang through the room defiantly, leaving no space for argument. 

“If she’s not a were, how did she know the bite would turn him?” Scott’s attention snapped back to Allison as the question fell from her lips. Disbelief and regret colored his face. He thought for sure Allison would be on his side. She turned to him with a tight smile before looking back at Taipa expectantly. Taipa stared back looking almost impressed. 

“Coyote told me. And I, in turn, told her,” she said matter-of-factly while crossing her arms in front of her chest, highlighting her strong biceps. 

“Coyote,” Chris questioned. Taipa nodded once as if that was enough of an explanation. Chris continued to stare, his eyebrows raised in anticipation. 

“He is the god of creation and chaos,” she sighed exasperatedly. “The world was created by Silver Fox and Coyote. Silver Fox controlled the good and the day, Coyote controlled the night. He is mischievous, but not necessarily bad. When our tribe was attacked, I prayed to them both for help, but I forgot to thank him. He chose to punish my granddaughter for my mistakes. I have since learned to honor him more thoughtfully and he has rewarded me with his voice when I call on him.”

The rest of the room stared at her openmouthed. A mixture of curious and skeptical glances exchanged between them. 

“Grandmother was an important member of our tribe. She speaks to the gods. She was called Silver Fox, in honor of that, and as tribute to Her,” Lis explained nervously. She could tell the others were doubtful of her grandmother’s abilities. Taipa simply sat still, head held high, challenging them to accuse her of lying. 

“Uh, anyway, that’s the story: they’re being harassed, we’re being threatened, and we all need your help,” Scott concluded succinctly, pulling the attention away from the elephant in the room. The Argents turned to face him, each wearing almost identical expressions of disbelief. 

“How do we know she hasn’t killed anyone before now,” Chris asked bluntly. Taipa jumped to her feet, eyes blazing with indignation.

“Because we raised her well! She has respect for all life, not just the kinds that are considered normal, unlike your people. You raise your children to be butchers, but have the audacity to cast judgment on others?” Her glare locked onto Chris’ face and refused to budge. He stared back, bravely, but subconsciously shrank down into the chair as Taipa’s tirade continued.

“We were forced to turn to children for help because they were more open and willing to listen than any hunter we have met. We have put them in further danger simply by being here with targets on our backs. Your kind kills for sport, tracking down people and pinning them with labels of ‘monster’ so they can still sleep at night after slaughtering them. How dare you question my granddaughter’s morality when you murder innocent lives simply because you do not understand them!”

Chris’ eyes stared back at her, wide with shock, fear, and anger. The room fell silent, the air vibrating with the righteous anger of Taipa’s words. Allison stood slowly and extended a hand towards Taipa: an offering of friendship.

“You’re right. Hunters are raised to kill what they see as different and dangerous.” She looked down at the ground suddenly, eyes lost in the memory of the things she had done in her past. “But we’re not like that. Not anymore. I have friends in the pack and I trust them. And I think some of them trust me. And those who don’t, I gave them reason not to. But I will earn back their respect. I will help you.”

Taipa watched Allison closely, measuring her words and intention as she spoke. Allison was young, still impressionable, but fierce in her convictions. Taipa nodded and grasped Allison’s outstretched hand. 

“We’ll both help,” Chris added, rising to his feet. “But we’ll be watching everything. Any signs of foul play, and this deal is off.” 

Allison grimaced at him for ruining the moment, but nodded her agreement as Chris extended his own hand. Taipa took it cautiously, her dark eyes boring into his pale blue ones, sizing him up and checking his sincerity. 

“We appreciate your help,” she said with a nod. “The sheriff will as well, once we retrieve him.”

Both Argents’ heads snapped toward Scott, who was trying to school the guilty look on his face. He ran a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture he had picked up from Stiles.

“So about the whole threatening Stiles thing, they may have let us know that they have his dad,” he said sheepishly. Allison looked stricken by the news, but Chris eyed Scott harshly, as if he knew there was more to it.

“And,” he prompted. Scott’s hands dropped to his side in defeat. 

“They’re being led by Gerard.”

\---

 

The sheriff spat a mouthful of blood at the hunter before him. The coppery taste had coated his mouth for so long he was sure he would never be able to get rid of it. He could feel multiple gashes on the inside of his cheek where his teeth had bitten into the flesh (brass knuckles were no joke). He had tried to resist, tried to pull away from the onslaught, but the chains gave him nothing; his wrists and ankles were raw and bloodied from the effort.

The man wiped the blood off of his face with his free hand and grinned down at the chained man below him. The sheriff tried to glare back, but one eye was already swollen shut and the other stung from the blood and sweat that had run into it.

“Keep it up old man, you’re only making my job easier,” the hunter taunted. He landed another punch to the sheriff’s ribs before he could respond. He hunched forward as far as his restraints would allow him, wincing at the pain from his most definitely cracked rib. 

“Hey now,” the younger hunter called out from his perch near the doorway, “they said we need blood, not bruising.” The older man turned to scoff at him before turning his attention back to the sheriff.

“Would you rather I just cut him open?” 

The indifference in his voice was more chilling than anything the sheriff had experienced. This man was causing pain for no personal reason. He was willing to do whatever he was told. You can’t reason with people like that. 

The younger hunter lurched forward, ready to pull the other man away before realizing the man hadn’t moved yet. 

“No, I suppose not,” he muttered bashfully. The sheriff almost felt for the kid. He had clearly gotten involved with these men before realizing fully what they were capable of. He didn’t seem to have the distant, cold expression that the others wore. He seemed more down to earth, like he had thought he signed up with the good guys and somehow ended up with these men instead. It made the sheriff wonder what kind of organization they were a part of that could look appealing and righteous from the outside to bring in good people while still attracting the vicious lot he had mainly been dealing with. 

The man stepped back, eying the sheriff’s wounds before nodding appreciatively. 

“I think we’re good for now. His eye’s gonna keep bleeding til that swelling goes down, so that’ll give us another 20 minutes or so of fresh blood,” he said triumphantly. “Should be enough to get the bastards riled up.” 

The sheriff looked up at the men, confusion etched across his mangled face. The hunter’s words made no sense. Who was supposed to get riled up? How was the sheriff bleeding in an abandoned warehouse, where no one knew to find him, going to affect anyone? Were they going to make a ransom tape? Were they that desperate to drag his son into the situation? Panic got the better of him; he had to know. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

He watched the hunters as closely as he could, trying his best to catch any tells. The older man grinned knowingly, but the younger looked cautious. The sheriff vaguely recalled the others berating him for giving away unnecessary information earlier; he must have decided to wait for the senior hunter to answer.

“Man you really are out of the loop. What kind of sheriff are you? Don’t even know when there are monsters living right under your nose?”

The sheriff stared back blankly. The words still didn’t make sense, but everything about the man’s posture and tone said that he believed he was speaking the truth. He thought back over the past couple years. Sure there had been an upsurge of strange cases, but Beacon Hills had always had a knack for having weird crimes. And yes, the sheriff had dealt with some truly reprehensible people throughout his time in the department, but not many he would label monsters. These men seemed to think there was an entire syndicate of villains secretly functioning in Beacon Hills. But most importantly, why did they think Stiles was involved with said ‘monsters’?

“What monsters,” he pried further, trying to get more useful information out of the man. The hunters just blinked back at him. 

“If you don’t know already, you’d never believe us,” the older man said almost condescendingly. His expression slowly shifted to one of concern. “Trust me, they ain’t anything a average cop can handle. Hell even a good cop couldn’t handle most of them.” He took in the sheriff’s expectant expression and chuckled under his breath. “Your bullets wouldn’t even slow them down. Let’s just leave it at that.”

What? The sheriff had had the occasional run in with an over stimulated tweaker who didn’t seem to notice when he was tased, but never someone who wouldn’t notice a gunshot. That wasn’t possible. He shook his head slowly, unable to comprehend, questions jettisoning through his mind.

“Why? Why am I here? Why do they need blood? Who are they,” he asked desperately. The man huffed a laugh and started to leave the room.

“They can smell it. Makes them nuts. Go all savage. Just sit tight sheriff, you’ll see them soon enough.” The man tapped the young hunter on the shoulder as he pushed past him back out into the main warehouse. Before the door swung closed the sheriff noticed the table that had been full of traps and razor wire had nearly been cleared. He watched one of the other men lug the last iron jaw trap towards the exit as the door latched behind the hunter. 

The room fell silent except for the sound of his ragged breathing. Each breath pushed against his injured ribs, sending a jolt of pain through his chest. Each jolt forced a wince, which would in turn send another jolt of pain from his swollen eye into his already throbbing head. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been beaten so badly. It was possible that he never had been. 

The young hunter stepped forward suddenly, offering the sheriff a bottle of water. His conflicted expression was less than comforting.

“Why,” the sheriff asked, trying to ignore the sharp ache in his jaw as he spoke. The hunter lowered the bottle and looked down at the floor.

“This isn’t what we normally do. This isn’t what I signed up for. If we needed bait in the past, it would be one of us, not a civilian,” he whispered. It was clear that the man was uncomfortable with the situation, but the knowledge that the sheriff was being used as bait was invaluable. He would never allow someone to get hurt for his sake, especially at the hands of these merciless men. 

“You know I’m not a civilian, right,” he asked in an attempt to sooth the young man’s mind. Even if he was holding him hostage, the kid was still young and confused. The hunter smiled back at him.

“In this fight you are.” He raised the bottle to the sheriff’s mouth and tipped it slowly, letting the sheriff pause to spit out more blood.

Suddenly the sheriff’s radio crackled to life from the table that held the rest of his effects. 

[Unit 95, come in 95.]

The sheriff locked eyes with the hunter, a knowing expression on his face. 

“You brought my cruiser out here,” the sheriff stated, much to the hunter’s surprise. “The radio wouldn’t work unless the cruiser was nearby. They’re only going to call two more times before they track the car.” The hunter started to look panicked. The sheriff wasn’t sure he would allow it, but he needed to answer that call. 

[Repeat, Unit 95, come in.]

He needed to keep the rest of the department as far away as possible. On the off chance that there were monsters coming, he wanted his people far, far away from them until they had more information. Besides that, he knew those traps had to be setup all around the building; he couldn’t let his people walk into those. He looked back up at the hunter whose eyes flicked back and forth between the static-y radio and the sheriff. 

“Let me answer,” the sheriff offered. “I’ll turn them away. The others will be none the wiser.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I protect this town. That includes my deputies and everyone at the station. There’s been enough death in this department, I won’t contribute to it.” The sheriff’s voice was low and strained, hurting with the memories of all his fallen comrades. 

[Unit 95! Come in!]

The radio was thrust into his face, the hunter holding it looked pale and nervous, but resolved. 

“This is 95. My hands were full. Over,” the sheriff falsely clarified into the receiver.

[Roger. What is your location?]

The hunter stared down at him with wide eyes. It was do or die time. The sheriff would either turn on him or keep to his word. 

“Outskirts of the warehouse district. Got caught up in the search, decided to grab some shut eye in the car and start again in the morning.” 

The radio went silent for a moment.

[Your shift ended over six hours ago, sir.]

A new voice had taken over the radio. Parrish. Of course it was Parrish. The sheriff liked the new deputy; he still had heart and hope in his eyes. 

[I didn’t see you in the warehouse district when I left at 0400, sir.]

“That would be because I decided it was easier to keep searching elsewhere than to go home for a few hours. Don’t worry, I’m headed there next. Just wanted to do a final sweep of this area in daylight.” The sheriff truly hoped Parrish wouldn’t look into it too much. 

“You should be getting off too, shouldn’t you,” he reminded the deputy, hoping the distraction would be enough. There was a throat cleared over the speaker.

[Roger that, sheriff. You sure you’re ok?]

The sheriff had come to think of him as a son, a good son, the well behaved, well meaning son, over the past few weeks. Even so, it was unusual for such an intimate conversation to happen over the CB. The deputy must have been genuinely worried.

“Everything’s fine,” he said with a cough and a stifled groan. “I’m going home now. You should do the same.” There was a long pause before Parrish responded.

[Roger that.] 

The sheriff leaned back with a sigh of relief. At least he had managed to keep the department out of the situation. He could figure out his own escape later. The hunter dropped the radio back onto the table on the other side of the room. 

“They really like you, huh?”

The sheriff blinked up at the young man. He seemed slightly resentful that the sheriff was well looked upon. 

“I’d like to think they do, but I’m sure there are those who don’t,” he admitted quietly.

“I doubt it,” the hunter scoffed. “You’re a good man. They’d be right to like you.” He looked down at the floor again, his face contemplative as he pulled out the gun he had tucked into his waistband. 

A moment of terror passed through the sheriff. Was this man really going to kill him after all that? The hunter looked at the weapon in his hands, turning it slowly over, frowning at something on the handle before dropping it onto the table with the sheriff’s radio. He leaned back against the table and folded his arms in front of his chest. 

The sheriff let out a long breath, and immediately cursed himself for doing so as he started coughing against the pain. The hunter watched him sadly. Something in his eyes led the sheriff to believe that he didn’t think either of them would make it out of this one.

\--

 

“What do you mean the cops aren’t gonna help?” Stiles’ frantic screech pierced the air of the loft. Erica and Isaac shrunk back against Boyd, as if he could protect them from Stiles’ wrath. Neither beta raised their eyes to meet Stiles’ glare. 

(The betas had returned from the police station with Danny, Jackson, and Lydia in tow a few minutes earlier. The latter three had been a mixture of confused, annoyed, and concerned as they entered the barren loft and were faced with the mistmatched lineup of werewolves, werefoxes, tattooed grandmothers, and hunters. Needless to say there were some awkward introductions for a moment. 

Surprisingly it turned out that Danny wasn’t as clueless as the rest of the pack had assumed.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t tell my best friend,” Jackson had taunted insolently when the pack’s collective jaws dropped as Danny quickly identified all the wolves in the room.)

The betas’ eyes flickered between Stiles and Derek’s faces. Stiles’ anger was radiating through the room, his chest heaving with deep, anxious breaths. Derek watched Stiles closer than the betas did. The tension had already been visceral in the loft, but it was quickly becoming flammable. Stiles glared at the three betas, waiting for an answer. 

“They called his cruiser. He answered. There’s nothing more they can do,” Boyd explained calmly. Erica and Isaac looked up at him with awe, relieved that he was willing to face the vengeful werefox. Stiles blinked at him in disbelief, mouth hanging agape. 

“What,” he stammered out, knees starting to buckle. 

Derek rushed forward and pulled Stiles back against him, taking most of his weight in the process. He could feel the swirling torrent of emotions bubbling in his mate’s chest. There were so many different threads of pain, anger, surprise, fear, confusion, practically ever negative emotion he had ever felt, that he couldn’t even begin to determine what Stiles was thinking. 

“You could hear what they were saying, right? What did he say,” Stiles begged. Boyd looked back at him sympathetically.

“The dispatcher radioed your father a couple of times and he didn’t answer. But the third time they tried, he picked up. He said he was on the outskirts of town and headed home. Even Parrish jumped onto the radio to double check with him. He said he had ended up taking a nap in the car, and then decided to sweep the warehouses again.” Stiles perked up suddenly.

“Did he actually say he was taking a nap? How did he word it,” Stiles asked urgently. The pack and visitors watched the exchange closely, taking note of the energy in Stiles’ words. 

“He said he decided to grab some shut eye,” Boyd said cautiously, unsure how the choice of words altered the meaning. 

“He’s still trapped somewhere,” Stiles said confidently. The pack exchanged curious glances before looking back at Stiles quizzically.

“It’s a code,” Stiles clarified, ears starting to turn pink as he continued. “We used to play sheriff when I was little. It was a code we came up with. There was a deputy at the station when my dad first started who sounded really country and was always talking like that. He would always start to talk like him whenever we did a scene where he was in danger.”

“Hey, I remember that,” Scott exclaimed suddenly, a broad grin across his face at the memory. But the smile quickly faded and his eyes grew wide with fear. “Stiles. I thought that code meant you were in danger.” 

Stiles spun to face his best friend, panic seeping out of him. 

“Shit,” he whispered, eyes falling to the floor. 

Scott was right. Recently anytime Stiles had thought he was in danger, his first reaction was to keep his father safe. His mind must have imprinted his new reaction into the memory of the code: if Stiles was in danger, his father was in danger. 

Derek slowly ran has hands up Stiles’ arms to grip his shoulders, trying to gently pull him from his thoughts. His gaze passed over the motley crew assembled before him. They may not be the most capable, or the most promising, but they were the best resources his pack had. 

“That settles it,” he announced to the room at large, drawing the attention away from Stiles, “We’re on our own here and we need to be careful, but we have two goals, and only two goals: we need to get the sheriff before the hunters can hurt him, and we have to keep Stiles safe.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay. I don't even have a good excuse. If you're still here, I'm thrilled and I love you. If you've chosen to move on, I understand. No more stalling though. Here it is...the entirely too long chapter 31.

The pack trudged through the dense trees anxiously, nerves on edge as they passed through the dark forest. The soft crunch of their footsteps seemed to stick out sorely among the chirps and buzzes of insects in the trees. The moon had risen finally above the tree line, giving their strained eyes a slight reprieve. They could finally see the river they had been following, the moon casting an eerie glow over the black water. The murky water looked malevolent, like it would crash over the banks and swallow them whole at any moment, though that was probably the pack’s nerves talking more than anything.

 

Stiles couldn’t believe they were even out there; they were really going to try to save his dad on their own. Not like they had a whole lot of choice in the matter, but it still felt impulsive and stupid, even to him.

 

After the initial shock and terror had worn off, Stiles had finally started to realize how hopelessly out matched they were. Sure, he and his friends had fangs and claws and above average healing capabilities, but the men they were going up against had guns, and wolfsbane arrows, and years of training and practice.

 

It was a really bad plan. And his nerves were starting to outweigh his spite.  He shoved his shaking hands into his hoodie pocket, fingers wrapping around the knife held within for courage.

 

“This is a really, really bad idea,” Stiles announced casually as the pack nervously crept towards its destination. The tension fizzing between them was almost unbearable.

 

They had driven most of the way to the old paper mill just north of town, but had decided early on to approach the last mile or so on foot, to hide their presence until the last possible second. The pack remained silent after Stiles’ outburst, but more than a few nervous glances passed between them as they veered away from the water and prowled further into the dark forest.

 

They were running out of opportunities to turn back.

 

“We could turn back you know. Call Allison, regroup at Derek’s, and figure out a realistic plan,” he offered encouragingly. The group once again refrained from a response, but a few ears perked up at the thought of leaving and the overall pace of the group slowed down significantly. It really was a bad plan. And since it was Stiles’ idea, for the most part, he felt responsible for everyone around him, even Jackson (who continually mumbled under his breath about how stupid they were). The pack turned to its alpha, silently asking for direction.

 

Derek pressed on, ignoring Stiles’ reservations. The pack picked up its pace and shook off their doubts, bravely following their leader as if his confidence would keep them safe. Stiles’ stomped behind Derek, but followed nonetheless. He just wished he hadn’t been so eager to attack earlier; he really could have used more time to plan. A slow thread of fear wound through him as they continued, fear that they would lose, fear that his impatience would get someone killed, fear that he would fail everyone. His hand clutched the knife harder as the footsteps around him blurred into a strange cadence, like the drums leading to war.

 

_“So, werefoxes are real too, huh,” Danny asked amusedly, looking up from the array of computers he had been stationed at for the past hour. Stiles, Lis and Taipa watched him closely from across the room, justifiably suspicious of his blasé demeanor._

_“How is it that you’re not freaked out by any of this,” Stiles asked bluntly. Danny smiled back at him with his thousand-watt smile that always got him out of trouble._

_“I dunno. I’ve been hearing about legendary creatures my whole life. My grandparents are from Hawaii; they like to tell stories. Though I have to say, the kanima seemed more up their alley than werewolves and werefoxes.”_

_The pack gawped at him before turning to stare at Jackson accusingly. He sneered back at them, unimpressed, and wandered off to join Lydia and the Argents in the corner, somehow under the assumption that his presence would be more desired there, rather than barely tolerated with the rest of the pack._

_“Guys, we’re best friends, remember? We tell each other stuff…eventually,” Danny added in a slightly bitter tone._

_Suddenly the computer screen lit up, catching the attention of everyone in the room._

_“Success,” Danny said cheerfully, the sullen tone all but forgotten. Half of the pack crowded around him to view the live feed displayed across the screen. It was from a traffic camera on Northern Boulevard: the road heading towards the outskirts of the county. Stiles’ triangulation attempts had narrowed down his father’s location to a wooded area about an hour north of Derek’s loft downtown, but as far as he could tell, there was nothing out there. It was as if Google maps had somehow missed that area of the county. Even the satellite images showed nothing but a blurry mass of green and brown._

_The screen flickered with static from the pirated connection._

_“Can we see what’s already passed this camera,” Stiles asked with a nod to the empty road on the screen._

_“I can try, but the camera may not actually be set to record unless a violation happened.” He looked up at Stiles sympathetically. “But maybe I can clear up that map while we wait. Those kinds of filters are usually added after the pictures are put together, so I might be able to take it off.”_

_Stiles nodded thankfully and stepped back away from the group while Danny slid one of the other computers over and started typing. His anxiety was starting to break him: his skin practically buzzed with unwanted energy and his stomach hadn’t stopped churning in hours. He knew he was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack, but he was trying to stay strong. Derek turned to follow Stiles, placing a gentle arm across his back and steering him towards the balcony._

_Once outside he pulled Stiles against him and inhaled deeply, reminding Stiles without words that he needed to keep breathing._

_“We’re getting closer. We will figure this out,” Derek assured him as Stiles felt the man trying to pull the ache from his heart. It wouldn’t work, but it was a nice gesture. “If I have to, I’ll go out and comb the area myself.”_

_Suddenly the anxiety rolling through Stiles’ stomach turned to acid. His head snapped up violently, eyes burning a fierce amber._

_“Right, just go wandering into the woods with a whole pack of fanatic hunters? Do you honestly have a death wish,” Stiles scolded, pushing against Derek’s shoulder angrily, but the alpha wouldn’t let go. It was as if Derek could feel the struggle in Stiles; the violent battle between staying strong and breaking down completely. He realized dazedly that Derek actually could feel the struggle, through whatever their bond was. It wasn’t worth pretending with him. He stepped forward and leaned his head against Derek’s shoulder. “I’m not gonna lose anymore family, dammit. You stay with me.”_

_Derek’s arms tightened around him. The wait was grating on everyone’s nerves, but none more so than Stiles. Derek looked back in at the pack anxiously waiting for news, for orders, for action. Even though they didn’t really know the sheriff that well, he was pack by extension. They could feel the tension his absence caused and it was making them flighty._

_“Let’s go see what Chris knows,” Derek suggested lightly, leaving room for disagreement. Stiles straightened slowly and nodded his head, wrapping his hand in Derek’s for comfort and leading him back into the loft. He headed straight for the Argents, shoulders set with determination. If they knew anything at all, Stiles was going to find out._

 

The first trap they ran into was a simple one: a trip wire set on the east bank of the river, half of a mile away from the mill. Scott pointed it out while the pack was still a good twenty yards back.

 

“Good catch, bro,” Stiles lauded with a clap of Scott’s back. “I promise not to trip this one,” he added with a wink, the memory of Scott suspended upside down outside of the Hale house playing vividly through his mind. Scott huffed out a nervous laugh and rolled his eyes, the same memory clearly fresh in his thoughts.

 

“We’re getting close,” Derek announced unnecessarily, breaking the reminiscence, “That means there will probably be more traps as we go. Keep your eyes open, and watch each others’ backs.”

 

Nothing he had said was news to anyone, but they all nodded as if he had revealed brand new information. Stiles thought the nod was more of an agreement that their terrible plan was really about to start.

 

As they crested a ridge of trees, the mill came into view below them. Everyone froze, taking in the ruins of the buildings. The west building was practically gone, but the south hall still stood strong. A large parking lot sat mostly empty between the buildings, except for a couple trucks, and one painfully familiar police cruiser. The nearest corner of the foundation of the south building seemed to glow a soft yellow. Upon second look, Stiles noticed the narrow window there, as if from a basement, emitting a faint trace of light. It had to be where they were holding the sheriff. He sniffed the air in the direction of the light, but there were too many scents to sift through between him and the mill, never mind the putrid scent of wet paper that still clung to the long abandoned bricks like rancid perfume.

 

The rest of the building was dark, as if the hunters were just lying in wait. Honestly, they probably were. They had clearly had enough time to set up traps well into the forest, away from the mill itself. They were probably just counting down the minutes until their traps yielded results.

 

Stiles sneered at the building, at the implied arrogance of the men within, the men waiting to slaughter his pack simply because they dared to breathe. They may have been the most dangerous hunters the pack had ever faced, but Stiles vowed then and there that no one else would ever have to face them again after that night. Suddenly the plan didn’t seem so stupid. He couldn’t wait to confront the hunters. A steely resolve settled over him as his anger and hatred propelled him forward.

 

“Alright gang,” Stiles said mock cheerfully in his best impersonation of Freddy Jones, “Looks like it’s time to split up.”

 

The pack groaned in unison, one last familiar comforting sigh as they darted off into the trees in all directions.

 

“Stay safe guys,” Stiles whispered into the air before skidding down the ridge and jogging towards the darkened mill ahead.

 

 

_A chorus of cheers from across the room interrupted Stiles and the Argents’ conversation. It turned out that the hunters Reynard was associated with were more of the vigilante, lawless type. (Not that it was very surprising.) Scott rushed forward and dragged Stiles back eagerly towards the computers. Danny looked up triumphantly and pushed away from the table to give him space at the monitors._

_The first computer still showed the traffic camera feed, but it was paused on an image that immediately caused conflicting waves of relief and trepidation. The frame showed his father’s cruiser, clearly recognizable with the unit number emblazoned across the hood, being driven by someone other than his father. Upon closer inspection he could just make out the shape of a person sprawled across the backseat, looking suspiciously unconscious._

_It wasn’t a bluff then; the hunters definitely had his father. He looked at the timestamp on the feed. 0428. They had had him for over twelve hours, doing god-knows-what to him._

_Grimly he turned his eyes to the second screen Danny had placed in front of him, but he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to glean from the image before him. The picture showed a large wooded area with a river and two brick looking buildings with a small parking lot in the middle of it. He turned to Scott confusedly, shrugging slightly at the screen, thoughts too lost to figure it out for himself._

_“It’s the map,” Danny sighed exasperatedly. “You know? The one you couldn’t see before? The one that I painstakingly cleared up so you could see where they were holding your dad?”_

_Stiles’ eyes lit up. With a decent map, they could finally start plotting their rescue. Before he even realized he was moving he threw himself forward, wrapped his arms around Danny’s neck tightly, and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Shockingly Danny’s heart skipped a couple beats when he kissed him. Stiles pulled back awkwardly, realizing that the entire room was watching him as a faint blush spread across the Danny’s face._

_“You have got to be shitting me,” Jackson threw out accusingly. “No. You are not allowed to start crushing on Stilinski. You have much better taste than that.” Danny flushed and tossed an angry glare at his best friend who shrugged back at him, indifferent to his friend’s embarrassment. “Dude, I’m doing you a favor. I’m pretty sure dark and broody over there would rip your heart out if you even tried anything.”_

_Everyone in the room suddenly started looking for a distraction, any kind of distraction, anything to avoid looking at Derek. Jackson flippantly rolled his eyes at the rest of the room, but Stiles noticed his not-so-subtle shift towards Lydia. Which, truth be told, was a good idea; if there was anyone in the room who stood a chance of deflecting Derek, it was Lydia. Chris Argent, however, was glancing between Stiles and Derek with a knowing and disapproving look in his eye. He started to open his mouth, but it quickly shut as Allison’s elbow caught him sharply in the side. She glared up at him, shaking her head subtly. Chris huffed in annoyance, but remained silent, much to Stiles’ relief._

_“Anyway,” Danny stuttered, bringing the attention back to the map, “It looks like there’s only one main access road to the building, but the river runs right next to it. This picture is a couple years old, but even on here it looks ancient like it’s been abandoned for a while. I looked into the history of the area and found out it was a paper mill. Like, a really old one from the 1800s. Good news is that they basically gutted the buildings, so there shouldn’t be much out there other than the walls. But I still have no idea why this area of the map was blurred out. Like, there is nothing else up there.”_

_Stiles’ eyes were glued to the screen, memorizing the terrain, cataloguing any possible points of entry, noting all defensive positions, when a gentle hand on his shoulder broke him from his thoughts. Erica was standing behind him, an uneasy smile on her face._

_“There’s one more thing,” she said cautiously, reaching down to grip his hand as Danny spun the last computer around to face him._

_The final screen held another video image, but this one was live._

_“They apparently have surveillance of some sort. It’s not hard to break into CCTV channels if you know what to look for and where to ping from,” Danny explained in an attempt to distract Stiles from the sight on the computer._

_The sheriff sat in the middle of a concrete room. His arms and legs were chained to his seat with heavy, iron looking chains. Even through the low resolution picture Stiles could see the swelling on his father’s face, the blood dripping down his forehead._

_He started to shake as indignant fury bubbled up in his chest. He clenched his fists, claws punching through skin. Erica yelped and tried to pull her hand from Stiles’ grasp, but he clutched harder, blind instinct and anger locking his fingers in place. His claws dug in deep until there was a steady stream of warm blood dripping from their clenched hands. Erica squirmed from the sharp pain, still trying to pull away as Boyd stepped forward and forced Stiles’ hand to open._

_Stiles was completely unaware of anything happening around him. His eyes were stuck on the image of his father, bruised and bloodied, head hanging forward nearly unconscious. Painful, burning ire swelled in him, setting his skin on fire. He felt like he had a fever, sweat beading on his skin, his head heavy and light at the same time. Even the pierce of his fangs into his lip didn’t faze him; he simply swallowed the blood down and let his emotions continue to roil through him. Blind determination burrowed deep into his mind until his only thoughts were of redemption._

_A jolt of pain flared in his jaw as knuckles connected with his cheek. He jumped backwards, blinking the surprised tears from his eyes. Kaliska stood in front of him, her stubborn face looking up at him, fist still clenched in front of her. The rest of the pack stood back a few paces, circling the two werefoxes._

_“You…you weren’t listening to us. You zoned out. And you were hurting Erica,” she explained quickly. There was no hint of remorse in her voice, but her still clenched fist shook slightly as if even she was surprised by her actions._

_Stiles looked down at his hand where blood still dripped from his claws. The sight made his head throb and his stomach turned over threateningly. He spun around to apologize, but Boyd had already pulled Erica away and was delicately checking her bloodied hand._

_“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered. Erica looked up at him from between Boyd’s arms and gave a weak smile._

_“So you really are a fox after all,” Chris said in his calmest, most neutral tone. But it didn’t fool anyone; the threat was still there in the way his eyes narrowed on Stiles’ hands. He started to reach forward to inspect the claws still protruding from Stiles’ fingers, but was cut off by the blur of Scott and Derek practically carrying Stiles from the room and out onto the balcony to cool down._

_The rest of the pack eyed Chris warily, half expecting him to pull out a gun and start shooting. His eyes followed the backs of Scott and Derek until they were fully out of sight, hands clenched at his sides, but he made no move to follow, or to reach for any concealed weapons he might have on him._

_Kaliska stepped in front of Chris and spun the computer screen to face him, drawing his attention back to the problem at hand._

_“This isn’t what hunters are supposed to do. Is it,” she asked innocently. Allison approached the monitor with tears in her eyes. The sheriff had never been anything but fair and just and kind. He didn’t deserve to be mixed up in whatever fanatic faction had decided to roll into town._

_“We’ll help,” she choked out, still trying to hold back the tears and pain in her voice. Chris huffed grumpily behind her, but nodded his agreement to cooperate at the screen._

The pack decided early on to use a ‘divide and conquer’ approach; it being the most logical and potentially casualty-less plan.

 

Originally the mill had consisted of two ancient brick buildings. The one next to the river however had slowly disintegrated over the decades of disuse until there was barely more than a foundation left. Stiles vaguely remembered a call, years ago, about kids setting off major fireworks in the area and collapsing one of the walls, but none of the walls were left standing anymore. With only one building remaining, it was easy to split up and cover each side, and still not leave anyone alone.

 

Stiles stilled and focused his hearing forward, listening for movement within the mill. Between the constant gurgling of the black river, the incessant sounds of the insects and animals in the forest, the shuffling of feet around him, and the mill’s reverberant brick walls, pinpointing anything proved to be difficult.

 

He held up a hand to stop his group, which Derek and Scott caught immediately and froze. Lis however stumbled right into Stiles’ back and nearly knocked him right into the ground.

 

“Sorry,” she whispered, voice jittery with nerves as her shaky hands pulled Stiles back upright.

 

“You don’t have to do this. You know that, right,” Scott asked, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him like he was sun itself after a long cold winter. But slowly her resolve built itself back up and she shook her head quickly, almost as if she were trying to shake off the thought of leaving. Slowly, she unsheathed the knife her grandmother had given her back at the loft and stared down at the serrated blade.

 

“We need everyone on this,” she said determinedly, turning the knife over in her hand, catching the glint of moonlight against the blade. “I’m sort of part of the pack, for the time being, that means I have to help.” Derek started to comment, prepared to remind her that he would never force anyone in the pack into a fight like the one they were headed for, but Lis interrupted before he could start. “Besides, it’s my fault you’re in this mess to begin with. If anything, this is my fight. I need to be here.”

 

The three boys grinned at her impressed with her conviction, especially while her fear was so transparent. She nodded to herself for a moment before taking a deep breath and facing the mill. She cocked her head to the side and the others followed suit, listening for signs of life.

 

Stiles closed his eyes and let the sounds of the forest wash over him, laying out their origins like a map in his mind. The river continued to bubble a good fifty yards to their left and stretched on for miles in either direction. The chirps of insects littered the area, aside from one block of space around the mill, like a dead zone in the midst of the chattering trees. He could hear Taipa leading Erica and Boyd through the trees ahead of them, winding in and out of the large trees, picking their footing through the roots as carefully as possible to keep themselves hidden. Isaac, Jackson, and Lydia hung back a few dozen yards to the right, watching and waiting for their moment to strike. Stiles was still angry that Lydia had forced them to bring her. She was the only person in the pack who was human with no fighting experience. As a strategist, she was invaluable, but on the battlefield, Stiles couldn’t help but think she was more likely to be a liability. His only comfort was that she was with Jackson. He never thought he would appreciate Jackson, ever, but if anyone could keep Lydia’s safety a priority in the midst of a fight, it was him. He wondered absently how close Chris and Allison were. They had driven up further than the pack had since they had more equipment to carry. He should still have been able to hear them somewhere by now.

 

The others started to shuffle restlessly. Derek nudged Stiles’ shoulder, breaking his concentration, and nodded to move forward. Stiles huffed at him in annoyance, but started moving again anyway. He knew Derek was the alpha, that he was essentially the leader of the mission, but Stiles was the brains (though he used that term loosely considering how terrible the plan was), either way he deserved more respect. He frowned back at the alpha as they started moving again, bitter insult slowly drifting through the bond.

 

Derek suddenly pulled Stiles into his side and wrapped a heavy arm over his shoulders. Stiles could tell he wanted to say something, but the alpha still had trouble choosing his words well, especially in mixed company. Scott chose that moment as an opportune time to notice the tension in the air and dragged Lis ahead to give them some space.

 

“Just say what you’re gonna say, man,” Stiles gritted out between clenched teeth. Derek stopped short, pulling Stiles to a halt with him. He turned to face the boy, expression unreadable.

 

“I know you can take care of yourself.”

 

Stiles blinked back at him in surprise. He had been expecting the ‘you’re still a weak, fragile human so stay out of the way’ speech. Derek watched him closely, a fearful expression fighting through his typically stoic mask.

 

“But…?” Stiles led. Derek’s head dropped forward and Stiles could feel the anxiety pulsing through him.

 

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he confessed solemnly. “I know this is personal for you. It feels personal to me too. I just want to make sure that you can keep focused until we’re all safe again.” Stiles regarded him carefully. It wasn’t quite the speech he had been expecting, but there was still the heavy undercurrent of ‘Stiles not being strong enough’.  Before he had a chance to react angrily, Derek’s soft voice drifted out again. “I’m scared. I’m scared that I won’t be able to help you if you get into trouble. I’m scared that I’m going to get someone hurt because I’m too focused on you. I just want us all to make it out of this alive.”

 

Stiles’ mouth hung open. He had not been expecting that. A lecture on keeping himself out of harm’s way? Yes. A desperate confession of fear? Not so much. Derek’s eyes were glued to the forest floor as Stiles tried to process his words.

 

“If I don’t –“

 

“No, no, no,” Stiles interrupted, flailing his arms as he violently snapped out of his thoughts. “You do not get to pull the ‘If we don’t make it out of this’ cliché with me. We are both going to be fine. I am going to be focused. You are going to lead your pack. We are going to fight and we are going to win. And we’re gonna get my father away from these psychotic assholes. You’re scared? Good. So am I. It means we’re human. But scared isn’t a reason to stop now. We have to keep going, for my dad’s sake, if nothing else.”

 

Derek stared at him closely, watching the determination build in his eyes as he spoke. He nodded slowly, accepting Stiles’ terms. A small smile played across his lips as he pulled Stiles against him and wrapped his arms around the boy’s surprisingly solid frame.

 

“I do love you, you know,” he whispered into Stiles’ hair. Stiles sighed into Derek’s neck, breathing in the comforting scent for courage.

 

“I know,” he breathed back. “I love you too.”

 

They stood there a moment longer, just holding each other, just in case, for luck, for strength, for love. Slowly Derek pulled back and looked into Stiles’ eyes. He ducked forward and placed a soft kiss to Stiles’ lips, a promise to make it through.

 

“Let’s go get your dad.”

 

\----

 

The sheriff slowly lifted his head at the sound of the door being opened. Gerard stood in the open space, framed by darkness from the room beyond.

 

“It seems your boy has less sense than you hoped,” he announced ominously. The sheriff glared up at him, ignoring the stinging pain in his swollen eye. “He’s coming for you, and he’s bringing that pack of animals with him.” The condescending chuckle that followed his announcement outweighed the nonsensical words themselves. The sheriff spat a mouthful of blood at Gerard’s feet in response.

 

The young hunter in the room shuffled nervously in the corner. The sheriff didn’t know if it was from Gerard’s obvious manipulation of a minor or the fact that the old man continually called people creatures and beasts and monsters. Either way, the sheriff’s affection for his would be jailor was growing.

 

“And just how do you figure he’s coming,” the sheriff asked skeptically, just to be difficult. He already knew the man was telling the truth. It had been a long shot trying to warn Stiles away, especially with how prone Stiles was to getting into the worst amount of trouble he could at any one moment.

 

Gerard smirked at him shrewdly, the grin never fully reaching his hollow eyes.

 

“We have our channels, as do you. But family is always there to support one another.”

 

The man stepped out of the doorway to reveal Allison and Chris Argent. The sheriff’s blood ran cold at the sight. He knew those Argents. He considered them, maybe not friends, but at the very least friendly. Allison was dating his would-be son for god’s sake. How could good people like that be involved in such a twisted organization? Chris watched Gerard reverently, but Allison’s gaze drifted to the sheriff’s. She looked cold and calculating as opposed to her normal cheerful and personable self.

 

“They were loading the cars when we left. We’re supposed to be the backup,” Chris revealed.

 

“Us. Backup. As if they have more skill than we do,” Allison scoffed, eyes still locked on the sheriff’s, twisting the knife of betrayal even deeper.

 

“Little do they know, we are here to help,” Chris said confidently. “We’ll try to leave your son out of it,” he added with a nod to the sheriff, “but the rest of those things need to be dealt with. I won’t lose more family to the Hales.”

 

The Hales? The sheriff racked his brain for some kind of connection. He knew the Argents had lost Victoria recently, but her death had been a suicide: a brutal and violent suicide, but suicide nonetheless. There was another Argent death within the past few years as well. Kate Argent. Her death had been ruled an animal attack. But was it? If what these men had been claiming was true, maybe there was truth to both sides of the story: an animal attack and a murder. Maybe it was a murder that used animals to cover it up. It was a long shot, but it made more sense than most of what had come out of Gerard’s mouth.

 

Even if Kate had been murdered, he couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry for the woman. He had discovered after her death at the shell of the old Hale house that she had had a major hand in the fire that destroyed the home, and the lives of the family inhabited there. Honestly, he could understand the Hale’s desire for retribution, but something still seemed off. These two families were so entwined, had such complicated history with one another, it felt like the Hatfields and McCoys.

 

“We will not lose,” Gerard drawled out forcefully, drawing the attention in the room back to himself. “The filth that destroyed our family will be cleansed before the night is through.” Chris and Allison nodded in agreement, wearing matching grins that sent a shiver through the sheriff. They looked like they were in a trance; it was the look serial killers had in their mugshots: glazed, frightened, and angry, but mostly invincible. 

 

“They should be here soon,” Chris warned, “We need to be ready.”

 

“Of course,” Gerard agreed jovially. “I’ll retrieve Reynard and he can show you to your perches.” Allison and Chris frowned back at him, suddenly concerned.

 

“Perches? Like in the trees?”

 

“Why yes, my dear. We are hunters after all. This is about our family, you deserve first shot at the kill.”

 

It was the first time Gerard had actually announced his intentions clearly. The sheriff struggled helplessly against his chains, desperate to escape and warn his son. Even if these people claimed they would leave him free, there was no way he could trust their word.

 

The sound of gunfire suddenly erupted from directly outside the small window of the room.

 

\----

 

The mill was only a hundred yards ahead of them when the voices broke through the trees. At first Stiles thought they had finally gotten close enough to hear the hunters, but he quickly recognized the voice as Boyd’s.

 

“Watch out,” he yelled. Stiles’ group spun around to face the direction the call came from. The trees were too dense to see through, but it didn’t stop them from trying, ears pricking as they listened for the threat. A muffled groan reverberated through the ground, low and pained.

 

Scott launched forward, darting through the trees and underbrush towards the anguished sound. Stiles moved to follow, but was held back by Derek’s arm suddenly colliding with his chest. Stiles glared up at him disbelievingly.

 

“What the he-”

 

“Stop. Listen,” Derek ordered. Stiles did. He could hear Scott’s feet thundering to a stop a couple hundred feet ahead.

 

“Oh my god. Muffin, are you okay?” Erica’s voice was a mixture of guilt and worry.

 

“I’m fine. It’s fine. I’ll heal. Once we get it off,” Boyd grunted out between clenched teeth. There was a sharp groan of metal followed by a hiss and a loud clap.

 

“What the hell is happening,” Stiles asked angrily, still peeved that Derek had stopped him.

 

Derek started to answer, but suddenly the air around them erupted into sparks. They dropped to the ground, shielding their eyes against the onslaught of light as the sound of heavy booted feet echoed into the trees. The faint clink of magazines rattling sent a chill through Stiles’ body. He could hear Lis and Derek shuffling across the ground next to him, trying to find him again while keeping their eyes shut against the blinding light.

 

Stiles felt his instincts kick in, coursing through his veins, urging him to run. Lis’ hand appeared suddenly, wrapped tightly around his wrist, and the instinct started to fade, like it was being pulled right out of him. His attention snapped to her face and she smiled back at him, eyes glowing a dull amber.

 

“This is no time to run away,” she teased, voice laced with false bravado. Stiles could feel the shiver of unease racking through her body as another set of sparks burst through the trees to their right, but her words sent a rush of courage into him. He smiled back, feeling the sharp point of fangs catch on his lip.

 

“Fuck it.” He jumped to his feet, pulling Derek and Lis up with him and threw himself forward, racing towards the building at full speed. He felt his tail poing out from under his shirt, whipping back and forth as he ran, helping him turn sharper around the trees. Lis and Derek were right behind him, feet pounding into the ground.

 

The gunfire rained down from the roof of the building. The whistle of bullets cut through the air around them, embedding in the surrounding trees with a crack. But Stiles kept moving, forcing down the panic that flared in his gut. He could see the mill clearly now, along with the three hunters standing against the side of the building. His eyes narrowed to a point, focusing in on the center hunter. The other two were firing flash bang arrowheads around them, but the middle one was reaching for something: a lever. Stiles’ scanned the area as he ran, but he noticed the trip wire a moment too late.

 

“Jump,” he screamed back at Derek and Lis as the wire caught around his ankle. His body crumpled to the ground, thrown down harshly by his own momentum. He felt Derek and Lis run past him in a gust of wind, snarls ripping from both of their throats.

 

Biting pain shot up Stiles’ leg. He reached down to unravel the trip wire only to have it slice into his palm painfully.

 

“Fuck,” he hissed out. It wasn’t just a trip wire; it was razor wire. And it had splintered apart as he fell. Blood welled from where the wire bit into the skin, embedded far enough into his ankle that he couldn’t even see it through the thick stream of red. Heat seared through his leg from the open wound, as if it were laced with something. The thought slammed into him in the blink of an eye: Wolfsbane.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

 

The sounds of fighting bounced off of the trees around him. He craned his neck to see Derek locked in battle with two of the hunters, while Lis tried valiantly to disable the other without killing him. Stiles knew she couldn’t handle having that on her conscience. She slashed the knife up and down in warning, but was too cautious to actually do any real damage. The hunter dodged the knife and got a grip on Lis’ leg. Panic flashed through her eyes as the man pulled her leg up and threw her back onto the ground. The knife clattered out of her hand.

 

A new instinct flared up in Stiles’ gut, one he had always felt as a human, but now felt even stronger. Protection. He had to help her, injured or not. Lis couldn’t kill a man to defend herself. But he could.  

 

He spun back around and pulled the knife from his pocket and sliced two strips of fabric from his shirt. He wrapped the fabric around the wire to guard his hands and unwound it as fast as he could manage, ripping the metal from his skin as he did so. The pain was unimaginable, like acid being poured into an open wound while someone prodded it with needles coated in lemon juice, but within seconds he was holding the fragmented wire out with one hand. His leg still stung unbearably, but he knew it would heal: he just hoped the Wolfsbane would burn out of his system. Wolfsbane wasn’t as poisonous to him as it was to the wolves, but Wolfsbane was still poisonous to humans, so having it in his bloodstream was not a comforting idea.

 

The sounds of fighting surrounded him. He could even hear Boyd and Erica snarling as they charged the side of the building, followed by the nimble footsteps of Taipa.

 

He had to help Lis.

 

Stiles pulled himself to his feet, stumbling as he got his injured leg under him. He tried to put pressure on it and was amazed when it held. It hurt like hell, but it held. Gripping the cloth wrapped wire in one hand, he lurched towards the fighting, praying that Lis was still okay. His vision spotted over as the pain flared up his leg. But he refused to slow down, following his ears to the source of fighting instead. He paused for a moment, a mere yard from the hunters, and let his vision clear. One hunter had his fist raised, the hilt of Lis’ knife gripped tightly in his fingers. Lis’ face was sliced open, blood pouring from cuts on her cheek and lip.

 

Rage flooded Stiles’ body and he lunged forward. Before the hunter could register what had happened, Stiles had the wire wrapped around his wrist, cutting into the exposed skin. He yanked backward, knocking the knife from the man’s hand. His attention to Lis finally broken, the hunter glared up at Stiles, eyes filled with hatred and surprise. Stiles’ zeroed in on the man’s open throat, a strange urge rushing through him at the sight. He knew it wasn’t animal instinct leading him, that it wasn’t how foxes hunted, but the exposed throat called to him. He threw his free arm forward, claws digging into the soft flesh. Warm liquid flowed under his fingertips, splashing up onto the brick as he swung through.

 

The man fell sideways limply, eyes frozen wide with shock. Lis scrambled back away from him, staring up at Stiles nervously. He held a hand out to help her up, but she scurried further back. It was then that Stiles noticed the blood dripping from his fingers. It wasn’t his blood anymore. He knew that it should mean something, that he should feel something about it, but for once it was just blood. He didn’t even feel faint. In fact, he felt invigorated. It should have scared him, but he used it to propel him back into the fight.

 

A howl broke the air, echoing eerily between the brick building and the tree line. Stiles’ ears perked up, twitching side to side, trying to locate the source. He knew it was Scott’s howl, but he couldn’t tell where it had come from. Stiles scanned the trees for his friend, but was distracted by Derek who was still tangled with the other two hunters.

 

“You’re okay, right,” he addressed Lis, more statement than question. She nodded slowly, eyes staring blankly at the man slumped against the wall. Stiles reached down and picked up her knife. She flinched away as he placed it in her hand, staring dead into her eyes until she looked back at him.

 

“Use it. You have to keep yourself safe. Wait here for me and Derek, but if someone comes, use it!” He spun on the spot, hoping Lis would heed his advice, and darted forward to help Derek.

 

He had never really trained with the pack for real. He had watched a few sessions, but they hadn’t really applied to a human at the time, so he hadn’t paid close attention. Derek was sure to give him hell for it later, but he went with his gut: distraction.

 

The two hunters were on either side of Derek, one holding him back while the other drove an arrow into his stomach. Stiles could feel the burn of the wolfsbane through the bond. He lunged forward, before the hunters could notice him, and tackled the attacker to the ground, claws digging into the man’s shoulders. The man writhed beneath him, letting out a tortured scream.

 

Suddenly the bullets started hitting closer, barely a foot away, raining down in a steep hail of metal and gunpowder. Stiles jumped up, pulling the hunter up with his claws. The movement was fast, faster than the man could follow and he stood there, dazed as Stiles threw himself against the brick wall. Using the wall for leverage, Stiles kicked out, sending the man directly into the rain of bullets. A bullet caught him in the shoulder as he fell, blood blossoming out onto the pavement. Stiles turned away while the man twitched painfully as another bullet lodged into his thigh.

 

Stiles should have felt guilty, or sad, or at least something other than indifferent. But he didn’t. He didn’t feel any remorse as the man bled out into the parking lot, shot by his own people’s bullets.

 

Another howl pierced the air, startling Stiles from his thoughts. He spun around, arms flailing out to catch himself at the sight that met his eyes. Derek had thrown the other hunter off of himself and was ripping the poisoned arrow out of his own stomach. Stiles watched, frozen in place as the hunter jumped up and lodged a knife straight into Derek’s kidney. Derek’s eyes blew wide with fear as the pain flared through him. Stiles double over, practically retching from the agony hurtling through their bond.

 

A blur of dark hair darted out of the tree line, aiming straight for Derek. Stiles tried to force his eyes to focus, but the pain was too distracting. He fell forward onto his hands and knees, arms blindly reaching out for Derek. The sound of snarling layered into the scuffle of feet and gunfire, creating an ominous and terrifying symphony. Stiles continued to crawl forward, still blindly searching for his alpha, the need to help him starting to overpower the pain of their bond. As his hand finally connected with warm skin, a screech sounded against the brick wall.

 

At first Stiles thought he had found, and somehow hurt Derek. But he quickly realized the sound had come from behind the figure he was clutching. Stiles heard one last snarl before he recognized the sound of a body hitting the ground.

 

He hoped it was the hunter, but he couldn’t tell. His eyes were still scrunched shut from the pain. The sound of footsteps nearby sent a chill through his body, which he felt doubled through the bond. At least Derek was still alive if he was feeling fear. Unfortunately there was nowhere to hide and they couldn’t fight, not in their condition.

 

The footsteps grew closer and louder. Suddenly Stiles realize the gunfire had stopped. Instead, the sounds of grunts and groans and punches were drifting down from the rooftop. Apparently someone from the pack had made it up there.

 

The footsteps stopped a mere breath away and Stiles hissed in a panicked breath. The taste of coconut danced on his tongue and relief flooded his system.

 

“This is gonna hurt, man. I’m sorry. Deep breath,” Scott’s gentle voice instructed Derek. Stiles shared Derek’s apprehension, but it was clear that the knife was laced with more poison and it had to come out. No matter how painful it was.

 

Scott didn’t even give him the courtesy of a countdown; he simply ripped the knife from Derek’s back and immediately pressed his sweatshirt into the wound. They all knew Derek would heal, but blood loss was still blood loss and it could drastically slow down his healing ability. Derek collapsed onto the pavement and groaned at the itch of his organs knitting back together.

 

As soon as the knife had been removed, Stiles’ pain had dissipated and his vision cleared. He practically threw himself over Derek, catching Scott’s hands under his body, and causing a grunt of displeasure from the alpha. He didn’t care. They were all ok.

 

“So much for me keeping safe, huh tough guy,” Stiles teased as he buried his nose into the back Derek’s neck. It was comforting to smell him, even through the acrid scents of pain and misery.

 

Lis’ scream shattered the reunion as a body fell from the roof and landed not even ten yards away from them. Stiles looked up incredulously to see Erica’s golden curls leaning over the edge of the roof.

 

“What the hell, Erica,” Stiles called up anxiously. The building was only about 40 feet tall, so the man might not have been dead, but he was likely to be maimed or paralyzed from the fall.

 

“That was not me! This woman is crazy,” Erica called back as Taipa’s face peeked out over the edge.

 

“Would you rather I let him shoot everyone,” she asked primly. Erica flustered then, waving her arms in defense.

 

“You didn’t let me finish. Crazy awesome. You’re crazy awesome,” she stuttered out.

 

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh. He felt like he was going crazy. They were surrounded by bodies, some dead, some simply wounded to the point of debilitation. Blood was splattered all over the walls and ground. And yet here was his pack, joking about it all. If they made it through the night, he was pretty sure they were going to have a collective nervous breakdown. At least they could do it together.

 

Lis scurried over to join them, picking her way around the carnage until she was sitting at Derek and Stiles’ feet. Scott tried to reach out to her, but his hands were still pinned between Stiles and Derek’s bodies. It probably should have felt more awkward than it did.

“Hey, where’s Boyd,” Scott called up to the women on the roof. Taipa shrugged at him, but Erica pointed to the side of the building.

 

“He went around to help the others,” she explained. “They broke in while all hell broke loose out here. Hopefully they can take care of whoever was left guarding the sheriff.”

 

“Wait a minute,” Stiles yelled, sitting straight up, which pulled another groan from Derek, though it was more from discomfort than actual pain. Stiles scanned the ground frantically, taking inventory of the bodies splayed out around him. He didn’t recognize any of the men.

 

“Fuck,” he hissed out, “Where’s Gerard? And Rey?” Scott joined him in scanning the faces of the men around them. None of them were the two they had come for.

 

Derek sat up suddenly, fighting a grin as Stiles tumbled off of him. The wound on his back had finally stopped bleeding.

 

“We have to go now before they come up with a strategy,” he announced as he rose to his feet. He pulled Stiles and Scott up next, but he hesitated when he got to Lis. She was splattered with blood and her eyes were wide and unseeing. Her fingers were clenched around her knife, knuckles white from the pressure. She was in shock. She and Taipa may have been running from hunters for years, but it was clear she had never confronted them. He squatted down in front of her and placed a gentle hand on her knee. Her head snapped up as she shied away from the contact, but recognition flashed through her eyes.

 

“You’re going to stay here. Stay hidden in the trees. And stay safe. We’ll come get you when it’s over. You’ve done your part. You don’t have to go any further.” His tone was soft and strangely intimate, like he was telling her something he wished someone had told him when his life fell to pieces. It was heartwarming and heartbreaking all at once. Lis stared back at him, slowly processing his words. Stiles could see the guilt in her expression, but she nodded and slowly got to her feet. She glanced between the three boys surrounding her and the trees and nodded again, confirming her decision to sit the next part out. To everyone’s surprise she threw her arms around Derek’s neck and pulled him into a crushing hug before jogging to the tree line and disappearing into the darkness.

 

“Ok, time to regroup,” Stiles announced. “If the others are sneaking in, we need to be the distraction.” Derek and Scott nodded at him sagely and waited for more. Stiles’ gaze drifted to the parking lot and the trucks parked within it. A broad, devious grin stretched across his face.

 

“I may have an idea.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

The sheriff shifted anxiously against his chains as the gunfire died down. He couldn’t fully describe the noises he had heard during the fight, but the closest word he could think of was ‘howling’. There were screams and screeches and other typical fight noises, but a few times something more animalistic broke through. The Argents had left him with the younger hunter when the fight broke out and the sheriff had watched him throughout.

 

The kid looked terrified. Maybe he really was a rookie.

 

The young hunter crept towards the window that hovered just below the ceiling, the one that sat at ground level from the outside. He pulled himself up to look out it, but dropped down almost immediately.

 

“See anything,” the sheriff couldn’t help but ask. The hunter shuffled back towards the table and shook his head.

 

“Too dark. But there has to be casualties out there. No way did everybody make it out of that alive. On either side.”

 

The sudden reminder that his son was on one of those sides, was out there fighting, drove a spike of guilt and panic through the sheriff’s stomach. He didn’t care how many of Gerard’s men died; he didn’t even really care if the ‘monsters’ died, as long as Stiles was safe.

 

“How many more men do you have here?” The hunter looked up, surprised by the question. He looked uneasy, like he knew he shouldn’t answer, but the sheriff knew he would.

 

“We have 15,” he sighed eventually. “Well, we had 15. From the sound of that fight, I’m pretty sure we’re down at least one.” Somehow it seemed like a big number and a small number.

 

“You’re all okay with dying for a delusional old man?” The sheriff couldn’t help but ask. He liked the kid, even though he was holding him hostage. He just could not figure out why anyone went along with the old man’s ramblings. Whoever, or whatever, they were up against clearly had the capacity and the desire to kill them. Why would they blindly go along with it? And why was Stiles involved with those people?

 

The hunter shrugged at the ground.

 

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I was raised a hunter. But my folks died. Rey took me in. I didn’t even know who Gerard was until a month ago.” He paused for a moment, a pensive look crossing his face. “No, I wouldn’t die for the old man. But I might for Rey. He took good care of me.”

 

So, not a rookie after all, just new to Gerard’s brood.

 

“What’s your name?” The hunter looked up, a glimmer of want, the need for some kind of family and identity, evident in his eyes.

 

“Sean.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Sean.” The hunter visibly deflated at the familiar tone. “I want to ask you one more question, ok?” Sean nodded, eager to please his captive. “What exactly do you hunt?”

 

It was the last question that hadn’t been answered. And the sheriff was starting to think it was the most important. The young man stiffened and swallowed as another howling sound echoed against the foundation.

 

“Werewolves.”

 

The screech of tires filled the air outside before the sheriff even had a chance to react to Sean’s odd confession. An engine revved. Followed by another. And another. Soon the mill sounded like a NASCAR track, the growl of the trucks reverberating through the hollowed out building.

 

Then the growls got louder, and louder, until they sounded like they were right on the other side of the wall.

 

A tremendous crash shook the foundation of the building. Dust and loose bricks rained down from the walls and ceiling, and the single bulb flickered helplessly. The sheriff’s ears rang wildly from the volume of the crash.

 

“What the hell was th-”

 

The sheriff didn’t get to finish his question before the door to the room was ripped off of its hinges. A large black man stood in the doorway, his clothes in tatters, with blood dripping from his leg. He looked familiar, but his face was all wrong. His brow was ridged and his nose flattened. Course hair lined his jaw in a way that could never be confused for natural. His eyes flashed yellow as he took in the layout of the room.

 

Sean moved and the man’s eyes snapped to his face like a missile locking onto a target. The young hunter reached for his gun that was still holstered on the table, but the man in the doorway lunged forward and tackled him to the ground before he could even lift his hand. Sean’s head snapped back against the concrete floor and his body fell limp.

 

“Is he dead?” The sheriff didn’t even know if this person, animal, thing even understood him, because it looked back at him in confusion. What was he?

 

Sean’s words rang through the sheriff’s mind. But that couldn’t be possible.

 

Could it?

 

He looked back at the man still hovering over Sean’s prone body. His face was definitely more animal than human. And now that the sheriff was looking, the man’s teeth were more canine than human too.

 

Another man appeared in the doorway. But this one was familiar. And not entirely a man yet.

 

“Isaac,” the sheriff asked, baffled. The boy in question didn’t respond; he just stared at the man/creature on the floor.

 

“We have to hurry,” he announced to the other man. “Jackson’s not gonna hold them off for long.” The other man (boy?) nodded and jumped up from the floor with an agility the sheriff had never seen.

 

They both approached his chair, openly relieved that he was conscious, but cautious nonetheless.

 

“I don’t know where the keys are,” the sheriff offered dazedly. He didn’t understand how these two kids were his rescuers, but he wasn’t about to pass up the chance to escape. Isaac chuckled and nudged the other boy with his elbow.

 

“Me and Boyd, here, don’t need a key. We have muscle.”

 

Boyd? Hadn’t Stiles mentioned that name before? Realization struck like lightning. These two kids were Stiles’ classmates. He was being rescued by high schoolers.

 

The two boys grasped opposite sides of the chains and started to pull. The smell of burning flesh filled the room as a faint hissing sound came from the chains.

 

“Shit,” Boyd swore as he released the chain, “They’re soaked in it.” Isaac was wringing his seemingly smoking hands and staring at the chain.

 

“It’s more than soaked,” he argued, “It’s like they’re made of it. Or forged with it. I don’t know, but it’s useless. We need the key.”

 

“And we left our only human outside,” Boyd joked. Isaac glared back at him.

 

“Let’s focus on finding the key first.”

 

“I might be able to help with that,” a voice called out from the darkness outside the doorway.

 

Chris Argent stepped forward into the room, a small key held between his fingers. Boyd and Isaac smiled at him, somehow reassured by his presence. The sheriff was beginning to suspect the whole family was manipulative. Chris’ other hand was still hidden behind his back and the sheriff feared there was a gun there.

 

“Wait,” he called out, but was quickly silence as Chris brought his hand out from behind his back and was revealed to be holding a water bottle.

 

“You’re probably thirsty, so I brought it along,” he explained, eyes locked on the sheriff’s. They stared at each other for a long moment, sizing each other up like chess masters, trying to predict the other’s move. But their staring contest was soon interrupted by the two boys still standing on either side of the sheriff’s chair.

 

“I really did not think this plan was going to work at all. I mean, nothing outside happened the way it was supposed to, but here you are, key in hand ready to walk him out of here,” Isaac quipped as Chris sauntered forward and knelt at the sheriff’s feet. There was a devious glint in his eye.

 

His nerves dissipated lightly as the chains fell to the floor. He stretched his sore muscles and cringed at the sharp pains that tore through his arms and shoulders.

 

“Alright, lets get you out of here before they realize you’re gone,” Chris announced urgently.

 

“What about Sean,” the sheriff asked, taking them all by surprise. Four sets of eyes landed on the young hunter’s body.

 

“He’s knocked out, not dead. But he might have a concussion, I do smell a bit of blood,” Boyd answered matter-of-factly.

 

“Will they kill him for letting me escape?” The question was directed at Chris, but Isaac was the first to answer.

 

“We’ll take him. Boyd, you help Mr. Argent. I’ll get Sleepy McGee over there.”

 

The sheriff knew that Isaac had a wiry strength about him, but he highly doubted he would be able to lift the man’s dead weight.

 

He was proven delightfully wrong though as Isaac strolled over to the man and hefted him onto his shoulder as if he were a toddler. The sheriff gawked at him for a moment before Boyd nudged him forward with a “You’re good to walk, right?”.

 

The room outside of his makeshift cell was pitch black. He squinted into the darkness, hoping to make out anything, but it just made the darkness seem closer.

 

“How are we supposed to get out of here?”

 

“Don’t worry Papa Stiles, we’ve got this,” Isaac said cheerfully from somewhere on the sheriff’s right. The group started shuffling forward into the darkness.

 

“Wolves can see in the dark a bit better than we can,” Chris explained. The sheriff wasn’t sure if it was the dehydration, the trauma, or the exhaustion, but his mind told him to just go with it. And so he did.

 

“So you’re all werewolves,” he asked the endless void. There was an ugly snort from Chris at that.

 

“Boyd and Isaac are. I am not,” he said proudly.

 

“So werewolves are a thing? Like an honest to god, thing?”

 

The comment was so reminiscent of Stiles, the two boys couldn’t help but snicker.

 

“Yeah. Werefoxes too, apparently,” Boyd added.

 

The sheriff heard a quick slap to his right and felt a faint shudder run through Boyd’s arm. Apparently Isaac didn’t want him talking about that.

 

“But that’s a topic for another time,” he added belatedly.

 

“Where the hell is that hatch Lydia found,” Isaac whined. It sounded like he was slapping his hand against the wall at random. The sheriff was starting to wonder how good their werewolf vision was after all.

 

But then the dull slap of flesh against concrete turned into the resonate thump of a fist on metal.

 

“Aha! I knew it was around here,” Isaac cheered triumphantly.

 

“Yeah, because we can see it. And we saw it from the outside,” Boyd added sardonically.

 

“Whatever, Vernon.”

 

Another slap echoed through the darkened room, followed by a small whimper.

 

“Children, open the door,” Chris warned.

 

There was a thud of a body hitting the floor and the ominous creak of wooden stairs before the door was wrenched open and soft moonlight cascaded over the decrepit steps leading out to the empty parking lot. Isaac crept forward cautiously, scanning the area for hunters.

 

“I think we may actually be clear,” he said hesitantly, ducking back into the basement to retrieve Sean’s body. Chris and Boyd pressed on carefully, lifting the sheriff gingerly over the creaking stairs.

 

“I am capable of walking up stairs,” the sheriff announced petulantly. Chris leveled him with a skeptical look as the sheriff swayed on his feet.

 

“Clearly. But we’d rather not return you any more injured than you already are. Stiles would never forgive us.”

 

A frown came over the sheriff’s face.

 

“What exactly has my son gotten himself into here?”

 

The three men exchanged cautious glances, neither confident in how much information they should divulge.

 

“I think that may be a conversation for a later time, when we’re not running for our lives,” Chris declared. A flash of anger passed over the sheriff’s face, but it was quickly replaced by acceptance. He nodded once and took a shaky step towards his cruiser, which was the only car in the parking lot.

 

“Don’t suppose any of you picked up my keys while you were in there,” he asked sarcastically. He could feel Boyd’s chuckle from where his arm was still thrown over the boy’s shoulders.

 

“Actually, we were just gonna hot wire it,” he confessed sheepishly. The sheriff scowled up at him, looking equally impressed and disapproving. It was a hard look to pull of, but it screamed Stilinski.

 

As they made their way across the parking lot, the sheriff caught the sight of something small and orange pacing at the edge of the trees. It almost looked like a fox, but it’s movements seemed wrong. He turned back to see if anyone else had noticed, but was startled by the new large hole in the side of the building. Bricks littered the ground surrounding what appeared to be a three-truck pile-up in the wall of the mill.

 

“What the hell,” he started to ask, but was quickly silenced by Chris’s hand covering his mouth. In the following silence the sheriff picked up on the voices coming from inside the building.

 

 _“Not your best idea, was it Stiles,”_ Gerard drawled superiorly. Even weakened as he was, the man’s voice incensed the sheriff. He tried to shuffle towards the voices, but Boyd kept him firmly in place.

 

“Not you. You’re already hurt. We’ll go…and sorry about this.” Suddenly the sheriffs feet were pulled straight out from under him as Boyd lifted him into a bridal carry and sprinted to the cruiser. He held the sheriff with one hand and wrenched the door open with the other, breaking the lock altogether.

 

“Sorry about that too,” he said with a wince. “You stay here with Sean, we’ll be right back out.” The sheriff startled as his passenger door was pried open and Sean’s unconscious body was deposited into the front seat. Isaac winked at him as he shut the door and jogged back to Chris with Boyd.

 

As the three men jogged silently up to the mill in an oddly tactical formation, two figures emerged from the darkened side of the building. They were just over 50 yards away, but the sheriff was sure he knew them. A moment later the moonlight caught on the bright red hair of the shorter figure and recognition finally clicked. He would recognize that hair anywhere; he had listened to sonnets about it for years.

 

Lydia and Jackson came trotting up to the cruiser anxiously. The sheriff threw open his door and motioned for them to get in.

 

“Are either of you a werewolf,” he asked, taking them both by surprise. Jackson nervously raised his hand, eying the sheriff skeptically as he did.

 

“Great, you get to open the door then. Your buddies had to break the front doors open, so I’m assuming you’re going to need some strength,” he explained quickly.

 

To his surprise, Lydia stepped forward and popped the door open, casual as could be. The sheriff and Jackson gaped at her.

 

“What,” she asked incredulously, “You could see it was unlocked. Those idiots just assumed it wasn’t.” Jackson snickered as he ushered Lydia into the backseat.

 

“Might want to leave the door propped open though, it won’t open so easily from inside the car,” the sheriff warned. Jackson did as he suggested.

 

“So what’s happening? Are we done yet,” he asked impatiently. The sheriff could see Lydia’s frown in the rearview mirror and he had to smile. He could see why Stiles liked her so much; she would never put up with his shit.

 

“I don’t know how many people you brought, and I still can’t believe my life is in the hands of my son’s friends,” Jackson scoffed at the term as if it personally offended him, “but there’s something still happening inside. Those three are heading in now,” he added with a nod to the massive hole in the wall where the others were gathered.

 

“Well I’m not going in,” Lydia announced, “and I’d prefer if we have at least some kind of defense here in case someone comes after us, so Jackson and I will stay here with you.”

 

“Good enough for me,” the sheriff shrugged as he turned back to watch the others from across the lot.

 

Boyd, Isaac, and Chris approached the broken wall cautiously. The three trucks were nearly piled on top of each other in the debris, but there was still just enough room to sneak through. To their surprise, Scott was still trapped inside one of the trucks crammed against the brick wall. The agony on his face lifted slightly at the sight of his pack mates. He nodded to the inner room of the mill with grimace and a whispered, “ _They’re hurt too. Help.”_

 

Inside Stiles and Derek stood facing a line of hunters. There had apparently been quite a few hiding in the building when they attacked. Luckily their distraction had kept the hunters occupied upstairs while the sheriff was taken care of, but now they were faced with seven armed hunters while they waited for bones to heal so they could fight. Allison was tucked into the middle of the line, holding her bow at the ready, aiming straight for Stiles’ heart. He knew she was on their side, and the thought was a minor comfort, but it was still terrifying to have her aiming right for him. He knew how deadly her aim was and he did not want to be on the receiving end of it.

 

Stiles had done a wonderful job running his mouth to buy them time once they realized they each had at least three fractures to heal, but his stalling could only last so long. The hunters were getting angrier and jumpier by the second.

 

“You do realize you could have just propped the gas pedal down with a brick, don’t you,” Reynard asked haughtily, his twisted face smirking at him. Stiles glared back.

 

“That’s great advice, now. Where were you ten minutes ago,” he spat back. His words were fierce and volatile, but his hands and voice shook from fear and exhaustion. His body was going into shock, he knew it, but he tried to keep up a brave façade; anything to give the others time to get his father to safety. As long as his dad was alive, he could count their terrible plan a success.

 

The hunters bristled at the insubordinate tone and Stiles noted the distinct click of at least four guns being cocked. There was no way out. They were completely surrounded and only one of them could even fight. He could tell Derek was almost healed, but his own wounds were taking longer. He wouldn’t be able to fight back at all; he wouldn’t even be able to defend himself.

 

“Are you finally ready to be put down, gentlemen,” Gerard asked generously as he inspected the bullets in his revolver. To Stiles it was bad enough that Gerard still used a revolver, but watching him play it up like a bad western was just sickening. The chamber snapped shut with a flick of Gerard’s wrist.

 

Stiles begged his aching bones to mend quicker, but the pain flaring through his body told him they stubbornly refused. Panic swelled in his chest as he realized that he and Derek were both about to die. He looked back at his alpha, his friend, his mate one last time and hoped that his face conveyed all the things he needed to say.

 

Derek watched Stiles with fear and sadness and anger flickering through his eyes. But all too soon he looked away. The alpha turned his head sideways and a loud crack echoed in the air. The room fell silent. The final stand was starting.

 

Gerard leveled his gun at Derek’s head, a clear challenge, as Derek’s eyes sparked red. The alpha let out a deafening roar filled with all the rage and pain and misery his life had been for the past six years. A few of the hunters took a staggering step backwards from the sound, but Gerard simply cocked the hammer of his ridiculous pistol and took aim.

 

Before he could pull the trigger, a second wild howl echoed into the night. The men looked up just in time to see Erica hurtling to the ground from the rafters, claws out, and aimed at Gerard. She caught his shoulder as she landed and threw the old man backward. He rolled across the concrete, gun knocking out of his hands, as the rest of the hunters frantically tried to regroup.

 

Reynard turned to follow her and fired a shot, but one of Allison’s arrows clipped his arm and the bullet ended up barely grazing Erica’s hip. She let out another wild snarl and spun around, eyes glowing bright gold, fangs dripping with saliva. She charged into him, tackling him to the ground in one fell swoop. The hunters turned on her, raising their guns and searching desperately for clear shots.

 

Suddenly more howls and snarls began to echo through the air. The building turned out to be an asset: it’s resonant quality made it sound like far more wolves than the Hale pack actually had. The noise was deafening. Stiles could feel the panic ripping through the hunters as the feral sounds bounced against the brick walls. Before the cacophony could die down, Stiles felt two gusts of wind whip past him in the forms of Boyd and Isaac.

 

Soon all of the wolves were fighting, lunging at the hunters’ outstretched arms and ripping guns from their hands. Stiles kept to the outskirts of the skirmish, still nursing a fractured clavicle and femur. However, from his vantage point he could see the entire battle unfold. Each of the wolves had a hunter pinned to the ground, but there were still more hunters darting around, including Rey and Gerard.

 

A flash of long black hair and tan skin darted out from the darkened corner as Taipa launched herself onto the back of one of the remaining hunters. In a matter of seconds she had the man pinned to the floor with a knife pressed against his throat. Allison and Chris were standing off with two of the remaining hunters, trying hopelessly to talk some sense into them.

 

Gerard and Rey were backing away, disappearing into the shadows as the chaos unfolded before them. They could see that they were going to lose. Rather than stand strong with their minions, they were turning to run. Stiles lumbered forward after them, skirting the edge of the fighting as much as he could. There was no way he was letting them get away again. His leg shook under the pain of his weight and his chest ached each breath, but he pushed himself forward.

 

Before he knew it, he had followed the men outside into the grassy patch of land between the buildings. The two hunters turned to face him as he stumbled through the doorway, the faint sounds of struggle drifting off behind him.

 

“Well now, you just don’t seem to know when to quit,” Reynard taunted as he pulled a knife from his belt. He twirled the blade deftly, his eyes locked on Stiles’ face in open challenge.  Gerard stood behind him, grinning smugly as Stiles winced from the pain shooting through his leg.

 

The sound of howling ripped through the air, drawing Stiles’ attention away from the hunters. Relief flooded through him at the sound. He knew those howls. They were victory howls. They had won. And any moment the pack would realize he was missing and come for him. All he had to do was wait.

 

“I think, Mr. Stilinki, that this will have to be goodbye,” Gerard said ominously. Stiles turned back to face him and found himself staring down the barrel of that ridiculous gun.

 

He expected his life to flash before his eyes, like every book and movie had always told him it would, but that didn’t happen. He stood there, staring down the barrel of that gaudy, antique, western wannabe looking pistol and could think of literally nothing else. The gun was just too clunky and outdated and just bizarre for a hunter to carry.

 

When he looked back on the situation much later, he supposed his body had probably officially gone into shock and he just didn’t know how to cope, but at the time all he felt was unmitigated glee at the sight of such an unwieldy gun pointed at his head.

 

A chuckled bubbled up his throat and slipped out before he could stop it. The hunters froze, gun listing downward as they stared at him. They looked like the thought they had misheard him. But then another chuckle spilled out. And another. And another, until Stiles was practically doubled over in laughter at the idea of dying at the hands of something from **_The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly_**.

 

“This kid’s losing it. Maybe he’s going rabid,” Reynard suggested cautiously, holding the knife out in defense as he took a nervous step away from Stiles.

 

Stiles gulped in a breath of air and his lungs burned from the stretch. The pain almost distracted him from the scent. It was the same singed, burnt scent that he had adopted once he was bitten, but it was more concentrated than anything he’d ever smelled before. He blinked the laughter tears from his eyes and immediately noticed the fox sitting at the tree line. It was watching him intently and looked ready to strike. Something about it encouraged him, drove him to settle his problems once and for all.

 

Without stopping to think or prepare himself he lurched forward and grabbed Reynard’s wrist. He snapped his arms backwards, pulling Rey’s practically out of the socket in the process. The motion confused him long enough for Stiles to get a strong grip on his elbow. Before the hunter ever knew what had happened, Stiles had bent his arm back down was driving the knife up and into his stomach.

 

Reynard clutched at Stiles’ arm as he slid to the ground, eyes blank. Warm blood spilled from the wound, coating Stiles’ hand and making the knife handle slick in his grasp as it dragged out of the man’s body.

 

Gerard gaped at him then, eyes burning bright with life for the first time. He was looking at Stiles like he had found a kindred spirit. It was terrifying.

 

Stiles’ leg finally buckled from the strain of the fracture. He fell to his knees, bloody knife clattering to the ground as his hands shook uncontrollably. He was probably going to die. He had accepted that. But at least he had gotten revenge for Lis. He wondered absently where she was. It seemed like an odd final thought, but he was nothing if not the closeted hero-case he had become.

 

He couldn’t bring himself to look back up into Gerard’s eyes. He didn’t think he could lift his head if he even wanted to. So he kept his eyes trained on the grass. It fluttered gently as the cool breeze from the river rippled over the banks. It was strangely peaceful.

 

His vision start to blur at the edges and he realized he was going to pass out again. It probably should have worried him, but unconsciousness seemed infinitely better than the hell he had lived through over the past few hours. His eyes drifted to the trees again. The little orange fox was no longer seated at the edge. In fact, it seemed to be sprinting across the field, aiming right for him. The fox vanished as his eyes blurred over completely, but he heard the distinct click of Gerard’s absurd gun. At least it would all be over soon. Everyone else was safe. That was enough. It was silly to think they would all make it out alive.

 

Stiles smiled down at grass as it blinked back into focus. It was as good a spot as any to take his last breath. He mustered the strength to face Gerard one last time. His head rolled back onto his shoulders so he could blink lazily at the hunter above him. He wasn’t thrilled with Gerard being the last thing he ever saw, but he didn’t want to give the man the satisfaction of shooting a willing victim. He wanted the man to look him in the eye and remember his face for the rest of his miserable life. He blinked up at the man, face completely blank, and prepared to breathe his last breath.

 

Gerard let out a crazed screech as an orange blur of fur latched onto his outstretched arm. Stiles watch dazedly as the fox swung from the limb by its teeth. Gerard’s gun dropped to the ground in front of Stiles as the fox continued to gnaw at the old man’s flesh. Gerard thrashed his arm to dislodge the animal, but it bit down harder, slashing its feet against his chest.

 

Suddenly, Stiles’ mind caught up: Gerard was completely distracted, his ludicrous gun lying impotently at his feet.

 

Stiles knew what to do.

 

He lurched forward and wrapped his shaking fingers around the cold steel, trying to ignore the sticky blood drying on his hand. His eyes blurred in and out of focus as he raised the gun. As if on cue, the fox released its hold and dropped to the ground, clearing Stiles’ shot. Gerard’s eyes widened in fear as Stiles’ squeezed the trigger.

 

The shot rang against the building like a canon. Gerard stared down at Stiles, his eyes empty as blood blossomed through his shirt. The man crumpled to a heap in front of Stiles, dead.

 

“Stiles.”

 

A voice drifted out from the mill, calling to him. He tried to answer, but his mouth wouldn’t respond.

 

“Stiles!”

 

Darkness started to edge his vision and he let himself slump forward, the gun slipping from his sticky hand. He wanted to call back, to let them know where he was, but he was too tired.

 

“STILES!”

 

Derek was looking for him. Relief flooded him as his fell sideways onto the soft grass. Derek would find him. Stiles had no doubt in his mind.

 

His eyes blinked open and he saw the fox sitting in front of him, shifting anxiously. A faint whine emanated from its tiny fuzzy chest.

 

 _I’m okay. I just need some sleep,_ Stiles thought. His mouth still wouldn’t work, but he thought the fox understood him anyway. It ducked its head forward and licked at Stiles’ cheek. He chuckled softly at the gentle touch.

 

The fox crept closer and curled into Stiles’ chest, its warmth a welcome comfort against the cool ground.

 

 _You did good,_ he thought as he dropped a hand onto the fox’s soft fur.

 

He blinked his eyes open again, but the world started to spin. The sky looked lighter, like the sun was coming up. Maybe it was. He had no idea how long they had been out.

 

Even through the world spinning around him, his eyes focused in on a shape in the trees. But the image didn’t make sense, at all. He squeezed his fingers into the fur under his hand and stared back into the trees. His eyes drifted closed as his mind finally shut down and darkness swallowed him.

 

Kaliska stood at the edge of the forest, a look of confusion plastered across her face.

 

 

 


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I am super sorry for the massive delay in this posting. I got a job that was kind of unexpected and it has had me SWAMPED with work and training and a million other things. And one of my best friends got married in the middle of it, so it's been a busy month. This isn't the end, but the end is in sight. I am amazed that so many of you have you have kept up with this story. I never expected it to turn into this and you have all been super supportive along the way. People can think what they want, but this part of the Sterek fandom, the part that actually loves it for what it is, this part is fantastic. Thank you all for your patience. I hope it was worth the wait.

Derek’s eyes widened in disbelief as he finally found Stiles outside the mill.

 

Stiles’ hand was clutched in the fur of a fox that snarled up at him and hissed protectively as he approached. Rey and Gerard’s lifeless bodies lay beside them, lifeless eyes wide and fearful, staring at nothing as their blood slowly seeped into the dirt. There was no movement from the bodies at all.

 

Derek crept closer, silently praying that Stiles was just knocked out. But with every step he took toward the scene it felt like his ribcage was being pried open further and further, like he was being ripped apart. Like a part of him was being forcibly, torturously torn from his chest. He glanced down absently, checking himself for an injury that he knew wasn’t there.

 

Panic swelled in him as the realization hit: it was too quiet.

 

Ever since Stiles had claimed him he had been able to hear his heart beat, he could practically hear it from across town. But at that moment, with Stiles laying not even fifteen feet ahead of him, the air was silent.

 

The pain in his chest erupted into tiny shards of molten claws trying to dig their way out of him. Air punched out of his lungs as his gut twisted into knots, writhing in agony as it desperately searched for a bond that was no longer there. He strained his ears listening for a heartbeat, any heartbeat, as his eyes blurred over with salty, bitter tears.

 

The clearing was silent. Except for the angry clicking of the fox, which it turned out had done more to protect Stiles than Derek had ever managed.

 

Dread settled in his gut like an anchor, filling the torn bond with venom that slowly bled into his body, burning him from the inside out. He fell to his knees, swallowing down bile as he splayed his hands out in the grass ahead of him, palms facing up, silently beseeching the angry animal to let him approach. His blood pounded in his ears with the force of a hurricane, adding a fitting soundtrack to the churning emptiness in his stomach. He had been shot, stabbed, poisoned, electrocuted, and tortured _(all within the last year_ a small voice added unhelpfully) but nothing, nothing compared to the pain that scorched through him at the sight of Stiles’ lifeless body lying in the grass. He felt a savage sob rip from his throat as he fell forward, eyes stinging from the tears that wouldn’t stop.

 

It was his fault. It was always his fault. He had known he was cursed. He had even warned Stiles that nothing good could ever come from being associated with him. He should have fought harder, pushed harder, forced Stiles to walk away. Maybe then, he would still be alive. Guilt burned at every nerve as his mouth fell open in a silent scream.

 

He had killed his family.  Again.

 

Silent sobs continued to rack through him as he buried his scream frozen face into the ground between his hands, breathing in the blood soaked earth in shallow gulps. How could he have been so reckless? How could he have let Stiles convince him to fight?

 

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

 

He could hear the rest of the pack calling for him. He could hear the panic in their voices, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. His entire world was collapsing, his entire being rebelling at the idea of living even one more minute without Stiles.

 

At least the sheriff was safe. At least he had managed to accomplish Stiles’ final wish.

 

His lungs burned from lack of oxygen, but he didn’t care. He dug his claws into the dry dirt and dragged himself towards Stiles’ limp body. He could still feel the heat drifting off of him as he gulped in a lungful of air that held the faint spicy sweet scent of honeysuckle.

 

Tortured howls echoed through the air around him. He realized dazedly that they were his own, but his focus was on Stiles.

 

He was almost within reach when he felt the fox dart out from under Stiles’ hand, finally leaving him to mourn in peace.

 

_Good. Just let me hold him one more time_ , Derek thought. _Then I can die too_.

 

Derek dragged himself beside Stiles’ still-warm body and slowly wrapped his arms around the boy, pulling the frail body flush against his own. The warmth was almost enough to fool him, but the way Stiles just hung limply in his arms was all too telling. Derek buried his nose into Stiles’ shoulder and let his tears drench the plaid shirt that clung to his still form. He wouldn’t be able to look at plaid ever again, he thought bitterly.

 

The soft padding of footsteps approached him slowly, the now familiar burnt scent growing stronger with every inch. Derek wondered vaguely if he should be worried, but quickly decided that there was nothing worth worrying over. His mate was dead. Who cared what happened to him? Who even cared what happened to the rest of the world?

 

The fox approached cautiously, soft huffs of air blowing over Derek’s face where the animal sniffed at him. It let out a small whuff and nudged at Derek’s head with its nose. Derek just curled down tighter around Stiles, ignoring the persistent creature to wallow in his own misery. It whuffed again, louder this time, and pawed at Derek’s head, like a cat with a toy. Annoyed, Derek flicked his eyes up to glare at the fox, but his glare turned to confusion in an instant.

 

The fox stared down at him with incredibly human eyes, their deep brown color burning into gold as Derek watched. The fox’s fur began to ripple. Wind whistled through the trees whipping up leaves and dirt as it swirled around it. Derek blinked the dust from his eyes as the air around him turned bitingly cold.

 

Through the clouds of debris, Derek watched as the fox reared up onto its hind legs; pawing at the leaves drifting around him, fur standing up on end. It was practically glowing. The sky grew dark, lightning and thunder crashing through the suddenly cloudy sky. The air felt charged with static, making the hairs on Derek’s body stand at attention.

 

Derek suddenly remembered the first day after Stiles was turned; the day they had trapped Kaliska and the sky opened up to rescue her. His mind reeled from the connection as he turned his full attention back to the fox, hands still clamped around Stiles.

 

The tornado-like wind slowly started to expand, whipping twigs and gravel across Derek’s skin. He ignored the sting, too distracted by the cuts that appeared on Stiles’ skin. They didn’t bleed. His heart had long since stopped pumping blood through his veins. His once unstoppable mouth hung open and silent. Derek’s eyes stung as fresh agony tore through him. He blinked up at the fox, suddenly noticing that the wind had spread far enough to encircle the three of them, cutting them off from the rest of the world.

 

_Fear not,_ a disembodied, but vaguely comforting voice spoke in his mind. It was painfully reminiscent of Stiles’ ability to speak directly into his mind. _His spirit survives in you._

 

Derek’s brow furrowed in confusion. He didn’t want Stiles to live on in memory. He just wanted him to live.

 

The fox dropped back down onto its front paws and stalked forward, eyes and fur glowing like a walking ember. Derek clung to Stiles harder as the fox came closer. It seemed to radiate warmth and energy, but it was wild and unpredictable, like a Tesla coil, sparking out with reckless abandon.

 

As it came to Derek’s head it stopped, gazing down at him with fierce, glowing, human eyes. It stepped forward and placed a gentle paw against his shoulder. Heat seared through him from the contact, filling him with fear and curiosity. The fox placed its other paw on Stiles’ paled face.

 

Within seconds Derek felt sparks jolting through his body. The hollow pit in his stomach, where his bond once thrived, sparked back to life, drawing all of the excess energy into it. Derek writhed with the itch to feel that connection again.

 

Without warning the energy suddenly flushed from within him, straight through what had been a dead bond moments earlier. He turned to face Stiles, eyes widening as his pale skin began to glow. Hope bloomed in Derek’s chest as color rushed back into Stiles’ face, his lips reddening as he sucked in a harsh lungful of air. The air rushed out of Derek’s lungs as Stiles breathed back to life. Pain blossomed through Derek’s chest, lungs clawing for the oxygen Stiles needed. It was like Stiles was taking the air straight out of him, but he welcomed it.

 

Stiles was waking up.

 

Derek smiled, eyes shining bright with hope as his lungs burned with need. Stiles gulped down air as fast as he could, hands clutching aimlessly at Derek as his chest expanded. Derek’s vision started to darken at the edges, his lungs shriveled from deprivation. He reached out as his eyes clouded over and placed a gentle hand over Stiles’ throat, reveling in the thump of the pulse he found there.

 

He didn’t know how, but the fox was using him to jumpstart Stiles. He could feel himself getting weaker, his limbs becoming too heavy to move, his head aching from lack of air, but he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face.

 

Stiles was breathing. He was alive.

 

Derek turned his eyes to Stiles’ face, memorizing the sharp cut of his cheeks and the swell of his lips, the dark constellations of freckles and moles scattered across his skin. If he was about to die, this was what he wanted to see last. His gaze travelled up to Stiles’ closed eyes; his dark eyelashes fanned out against his pale cheeks, beautiful even in near-death. Derek wished he could see Stiles’ eyes one more time. Those eyes that had hypnotized him, infuriated him, calmed him, and welcomed him; those honey brown gems that always seemed too big for his face. His vision narrowed to a single point, lungs burning, head pounding, body aching. At least the last thing he would see was beauty.

 

Just as his eyes drifted shut for the last time Stiles’ eyes snapped open, shining bright with golden light. If Derek wasn’t already gasping for air, he would have called the sight breathtaking. Stiles locked onto to Derek’s face, taking in the bloodshot eyes and pale lips, his glowing eyes widening in fear as Derek finally succumbed to asphyxiation. The last thing he heard was Stiles desperate plea.

 

“Derek, don’t.”

 

\---

 

The wind whipped around Stiles as his lungs stretched painfully. He couldn’t open his eyes and his head was throbbing, but he felt comfortable, warm. Warmer than he should have. He slowly noticed the bands of muscle bracketed around him and vaguely wondered who they belonged to. His next breath however brought the familiar taste of pine and smoke and his mind settled immediately. Derek.

 

He was wrapped in Derek’s arms, pretty much his idea of the perfect place to be. But he quickly noticed that something was wrong: Derek wasn’t breathing. Even with his entire body on fire, he could feel the pain in Derek’s lungs through their bond. His eyes snapped open and light burned into his retinas. He could smell Derek’s fear, but it was overpowered by sickening relief, as if he was more relieved to die than he was scared. He turned his heavy eyes to Derek’s sallow face, grimacing at the sick grin plastered across his pale lips. His eyes were practically glowing red from broken capillaries.

 

Why wasn’t he breathing?

 

“Derek!” He tried to yell, but his throat was raw. Derek’s eyes drifted closed, a peaceful smile still painted across his face.  

 

“Derek, no! Please,” Stiles begged, doing nothing to hide the panic in his rough whispery voice. He couldn’t move his arms. He was helpless. Trapped by his own failing body while his best friend lay dying next to him. “Please,” he sobbed brokenly, choking on the word through his tears.

 

He looked up then, noticing the glowing fox for the first time. At first he had thought it was Lis, but it clearly wasn’t. Its golden brown eyes shone down at him with a recognition that was unnerving at the least. Seeing it like that though, glowing with power and anger, somehow he just knew who it was. His heart beat rapidly in a steady pulse as the air in his lungs seemed to freeze with the revelation.

 

“I know you,” he whispered reverently, “I know who you are.” The fox’s eyes widened in surprise as Stiles stared up at it. Even the wind seemed to pause while Stiles sputtered through what he needed to say. “Please, please don’t let him die. I can’t lose him. Not him too.” Tears prickled at his eyes as he beseeched the fox god above him. The name came to him from somewhere he couldn’t explain. Kaliska had never mentioned it and he surely hadn’t discovered it on his own. And yet, looking up into those incredibly human eyes, the name appeared in his mind like a fond memory. “Kwahn, please. Bring him back. Use my healing, bring him back to me. Take back your gift. I’m sorry, but I will gladly give it back if you bring him back to me.”

 

The fox stared down at him, looking down its narrow snout with fierce eyes. Stiles knew what it would mean, giving up the gift. He knew it could be seen as slight against the god who had given it, but he was desperate. He couldn’t lose Derek.

 

He stared back at the fox, determined tears welling in his eyes. It turned to look down at Derek’s paled face and Stiles followed its gaze. A desperate part of him reached out through the bond, trying valiantly to will Derek back to life. But the alpha remained frozen next to him. Limp. Peaceful. Dead.

 

Stiles felt a tingle of movement in his arm and found he was able to move his fingers again. Slowly he lifted his arm, eyes never leaving his alpha’s face, and placed a gentle hand on Derek’s cheek. His skin was clammy, the once overly warm body growing colder by the minute. He stroked his thumb over Derek’s cheek, swiping a trail of wet tears from his skin in the process.

 

“Please,” he whispered once more, eyes frozen on Derek’s face. He had never loved anyone like he loved Derek. He couldn’t let him die, not if he got left behind. Stiles was never going to be left behind again.

 

The fox stirred above him, stepping back from the two bodies. The wind still howled around them, but Stiles was focused on Derek, and only Derek. He didn’t even notice as the fox stepped up onto its hind legs and began to glow brighter. Shadows spiraled across Derek’s face as the fox burned with light began to twist and bend with the wind. Stiles blinked against the assault on his eyes, but was forced to shut them against the piercing light. The fox grew taller, bending and stretching as the wind whipped faster around them until a lithe, human silhouette was left standing in the middle of the light. Stiles squinted up at it, trying to force his eyes to focus, but the figure shied away from him. Stiles nodded in understanding and let his eyes fall closed. If the god didn’t want him to see, he wouldn’t look.

 

He startled as he felt a human hand placed over his heart. It was solid and warm, but it thrummed with a power that scared him. He felt Derek being pulled from under his hand and tried to sit up to stop him, but the hand held him in place. Sweat broke out over his skin as panic bubbled to the surface. But it was soon replaced by a faint electric charge. The instincts he had been trying to bite down were flowing wild through his body, jumping and kicking and frolicking with uninhibited glee. He could practically feel a tail flicking through his chest and a nose nuzzling up to the hand on over his heart.

 

His inner fox seemed to sniffle at him, as if saying goodbye before jolting out of him and into the hand on his chest. He bucked up unwillingly as his life was practically ripped from his chest. Unrestrained sadness filled the spaces left vacant as his fox left him and he sank back to the ground.

 

Next to him he could feel heat radiating from Derek’s body again. A moment later he heard a deep gasp that left his heart broken into pieces. A relieved sob spilled from his lips as Derek coughed back into the land of the living.

 

“Thank you. Thank you Kwahn,” he whispered up at the fox god crouched over him. His eyes were still tightly shut, but he could see the light emanating from the figure even through his eyelids.

 

Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the light backed away. The wind died down to nothing and the field was silent once more. Stiles cracked his eyes open and scanned the empty field for something, anything to tell him where the man, god, fox, had gone. But everything around them was empty. He and Derek were lying in an empty circle surrounded by twigs and leaves and pebbled, as if a tornado had just vanished and dropped its debris around them. He supposed that didn’t sound too far off from the truth actually. 

 

“Stiles! Derek!”

“Stiles”

“C’mon, Batman!

“Derek!”

 

Voices filled the air around him. The voices of his pack. A soft smile broke out across his face as he fished around for Derek’s hand in the grass. They would be safe soon. The pack was coming for them.

 

A flare of heat sparked in Stiles’ belly as his hand finally connected with Derek’s, his long fingers wrapping tightly around the alpha’s bruised and bloodied hand.

 

“Derek,” he called out feebly, still nervous that the man wasn’t going to make it, even after godly intervention. The alpha grunted back at him, not out of pain or hopelessness, more of a grumpy ‘why are you waking me up’ grunt. Stiles’ smile widened and he squeezed the alpha’s hand harder. Derek groaned as he turned to face him. His eyes looked hollow, dark circles embedded in the skin beneath them. A faint sheen of sweat glistened from his forehead. He looked exhausted. Bruised. Broken. Bloody.

 

But not beaten. They would never be beaten again if Stiles had anything to do with it. He could feel Derek’s cautious relief through the bond. At least he still had that.

 

The sounds of footsteps pounded across the ground. The pack would find them soon. They would take them somewhere safe to heal.

 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered, “I didn’t mean to get you hurt.” Derek frowned at him then, eyes flaring back to life with a mixture of emotions even Stiles couldn’t place.

 

“Don’t,” Derek stated plainly. “Don’t blame yourself.” He paused for a moment, frowning harder as if his mind was trying to recall the end of a story. “It wasn’t your fault.”

 

The words sounded almost robotic as they came to Derek’s lips unbidden. Stiles could see the light clicking on in Derek’s mind as those same words resounded through his memory. Derek had been told so many times that it wasn’t his fault, his family, his uncle, Laura, but he had never believed it. Yet there was Stiles apologizing to him for getting him hurt, when he would never have thought to blame him. He loved him.

 

“Derek,” Stiles called out, sounding worried, like it wasn’t the first time he had tried to get his attention.

 

“It’s okay. It’s okay, because I love you,” Derek whispered, surprising even himself with the weight of the words. Stiles stared at him for a moment before a shy smile spread across his face. His cheeks flushed with color as his eyes drifted to the ground.

 

“I love you too,” he whispered back, squeezing Derek’s hand once more for assurance.

 

“Well that’s just adorable, but we’ve got stuff to do, so you might want to stop laying in the grass holding hands and gazing at the stars like a freaking Nicholas Sparks movie.” Erica’s voice startled them from their moment. They looked up at her guiltily, not even having heard her approach. “Ok stop with the puppy eyes. I don’t know what happened out here, and I feel like I should be pissed at both of you, but for some reason I’m just happy you’re both alive. So can we take this little lovefest elsewhere? I know at least half of us need some medical attention. Boyd and Isaac are still trying to get Scott unstuck from that truck. Nice idea there, Batman,” she added sarcastically.

 

Stiles grimaced and turned away, chest clenching with guilt. Scott was in trouble because of him too. And he didn’t even have the strength to go help him out of it. Some friend he was.

 

“Save the pity party, Stiles,” she admonished harshly. “No one blames you. Scott knows you would never do anything to hurt him and – ohmygod why am I even explaining this to you? You know Scott will love you forever because you’re both sickeningly codependent. Now can we go?? I have a feeling some actual cops are gonna show up and I do not want to be here with 5 dead bodies when they do.”

 

Stiles caught Derek’s grin from the corner of his eye and his chest loosened slightly. He slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing as his joints creaked in outrage.

 

“Ugh,” he groaned as his vision swam in front of him, “ I don’t know how up I am for a hasty retreat right now. I don’t even know if I can walk.” He poked at his fractured leg carefully and watched it twitch from the itchy pain still spiking through it. Erica’s sigh was entirely unnecessary and overdramatic if you asked Stiles, but she leaned down and hauled him to his feet anyway, loping one of his arms over his shoulder once he was balanced.

 

“Let’s go twinkle-toes,” she teased. Stiles eyes spread wide in surprise.

 

“You watch The Last Airbender?” Erica just smiled at him knowingly.

 

“Boyd got me into it. What can I say? Toph is my hero.”

 

That actually made a lot of sense. A handicapped girl growing up to be one of the baddest most impressive fighters in the land, finding a way to use her powers to stop her handicap from being anything that could slow her down.

 

“Huh. I kinda pegged you more for an Azula girl,” Stiles joked. But Erica leveled him with the most scathing of glares.

 

“You wanna crawl your ass back to the hospital yourself,” she threatened a little too seriously.

 

“No thank you. Lead the way Ms. Beifong.” Erica smirked at him briefly before leading him back towards the mill. “Wait, who’s going to help Derek?”

 

“I don’t need help.” Stiles turned to see Derek hobbling alongside him, keeping himself upright much easier than Stiles was able to.

 

“Not fair. How come you can walk on your own,” he pouted. Derek’s frown mimicked Erica’s from a moment earlier.

 

“Maybe because I wasn’t dead less than ten minutes ago.” Erica stopped short at his words, eyeing the two of them worriedly. Stiles averted his eyes and tried to laugh it off, but Derek could tell he was hiding. His eyes widened in understanding. “Or was I?”

 

“I’m sorry, but what the hell happened out here,” Erica interrupted. “You two died?!? How the hell are you alive right now?”

 

Stiles scanned the clearing for the fox, but it was completely empty. Derek followed his gaze, wondering the same thing Stiles was. Where had their savior gone?

 

“It’s a long story,” Derek finally grunted. Erica looked highly unimpressed with that answer, but nodded in recognition of it.

 

“Yeah,” she agreed, “And you’re gonna tell me that story real soon, buddy. But first we need to get out of here. You both probably need more attention than I thought.” Without another word she turned back for the mill and half dragged Stiles over to it. Derek followed solemnly behind them, keeping his eyes peeled for any furry creatures loitering in the trees.

 

Inside the mill the Argents had the hunters tied up on the floor. Allison was standing guard over them, sneering down at their pitiful forms where they lay hogtied on the concrete. It seemed a little excessive, but at least they wouldn’t be escaping any time soon.

 

Boyd and Isaac were at the far end of the room, holding up the roof of the truck Scott was trapped in as Taipa and Kaliska tried to pull him out. Scott’s pained yelps echoed through the room and Stiles’ heart cringed at the sound. He and Scott had been through everything together and he had never heard him in such pain.

 

Erica headed towards the rest of the pack, sensing Stiles’ need to help. Chris and Allison nodded curtly at Derek as they passed, a relieved, if somewhat conflicted, expression on their faces.

 

The trio stumbled to a halt beside the truck just as Scott was pulled free of the heap of twisted metal and brick with a sickening squelch and a shriek of pain. The wall caved in on top of the pile of rubble as Boyd and Isaac let go of the truck. Scott’s legs were a mangled mess, dripping with blood, bones practically exposed from the deep gashes.

 

“Scottie,” Stiles breathed out, forcing the bile to stay down in his throat from the sight. Scott looked up at him with a forced smile.

 

“No big, bro. I’ll heal.” He looked positive, but his voice wavered anxiously as he spoke. He glanced down at his mangled legs, where the blood was just starting to stop flowing, with a grimace. “Ok, maybe a little slower than normal, granted, but I’ll heal.”

 

“I am so sorry,” Stiles choked out. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the pain in his fractured leg as he crawled towards Scott and wrapped him in a crushing hug. “Oh my god I am the worst person in the world. I am so, so sorry. This was the dumbest of all my dumb plans. Please, break my arm. Break my leg. Break my back. Break something to get even with me.” His voice broke on the last word. Guilt and self-hatred boiled in his gut. A tiny voice in his head hissed at him _useless, stupid, idiot, worthless._ His face twisted into a scowl of self-loathing. He had gotten everyone he loved hurt, practically killed, all for some stupid revenge plan.

 

The pack looked down at him skeptically as if they couldn’t understand why he was upset.

 

“Stiles, your dumb plan just saved all of us,” Boyd said quietly, his voice laced with shock at their combined survival. “All of us are alive because of you.” Scott nodded next to him, smiling back at him through blood soaked skin. Isaac shrugged from beside Boyd, acting nonplussed before smirking down at them in agreement.

 

“You freed me,” Kaliska said slowly, stepping up to be seen, but eyes too nervous to look at him. “You freed me from a lifetime of running in fear. You all did.” Taipa stepped forward and crouched in front Stiles. She looked at him fondly as she placed a gentle hand against his cheek. He subconsciously turned into the touch, basking in the maternal warmth Taipa showed him.

 

“Thank you,” she said, her voice softer than he had ever heard it. “Your bravery gave us hope. And your courage gave us victory. You have nothing to be ashamed of. We are safe now, because of you.”

 

“Your father is safe because of you,” Derek added, suddenly beside him as he wrapped a warm hand over his shoulder. Stiles sagged back against Derek’s legs and reveled in the comfort it afforded him.

 

“You even took out Gerard and Rey single handedly,” Erica added in awe, stepping up behind his other side. “They’ll never be able to brainwash or use anyone again. They’ll never be able to hurt anyone again.” Her eyes flicked over to Boyd who flashed her his most dazzling smile. If anyone understood the benefits of a dead Gerard, it was them.

 

The pack crowded around him, pulling each other into an awkward huddle that Stiles would have called a group hug if it had been with anyone else.

 

Wrapped up in the combined warmth and comfort of the entire pack, Stiles started to feel better about everything. Yeah, they were hurt. Yeah, they would need some time to mend, physically and mentally. But they were okay. And they had each other.

 

Exhaustion seemed to slam into them all at once. A collective sigh echoed through the group as they pulled apart, taking in the carnage around them.

 

“Ahem,” a throat cleared from the gaping hole in the wall. The pack snapped around to see the sheriff leaning against Lydia and the wall. Stiles’ eyes burned with unshed tears as he looked up at his father, haloed in yellow from his cruiser’s headlights. He looked every bit the guardian angel he was.

 

“I’ve called in the…incident here,” he said with a semi-impressed glance at the hogtied hunters. “My deputies will be here in about 15 minutes, so you guys might want to head out. I suggest you get those who need medical assistance to the hospital and we’ll regroup at our house to figure out just what the hell happened here.”

 

The pack started to move quickly, Isaac and Boyd carrying Scott as gingerly as they could towards the exit, followed closely by Allison and Kaliska. Taipa and Chris hung back, hesitating at the exit as if they felt the need to remain behind as the ‘adults’ involved. Derek and Erica helped Stiles to his feet where he shuffled for a moment before gathering the courage to look his father in the eye.

 

“Dad, I,” he started, but his voice wavered too much for him to continue right away. “I’m so sorry.” He finally looked up, expecting to see anger and exasperation and maybe even a little hatred. But all he saw was relief and pride and unconditional love.

 

His father lurched forward and wrapped a hand around the back of Stiles’ neck before pulling him into the tightest hug Stiles had ever received. His mind flashed back to those times his father would find him sleeping outside of his study while his mom was sick and the sheriff was drunk with rage. It was a hug of desperation and promise.  A hug that said everything from ‘I’m sorry’ to ‘Don’t leave me’ to ‘I love you more than life itself’ in the most genuine of ways.

 

Stiles wrapped his arms around his father and clung on for dear life. He hoped the hug could convey everything he needed it to, but doubted that any one action could ever convey everything he felt about his father. He felt sick at the idea of leaving him alone to wait for his deputies, but he knew they needed to hide, lest they be implicated further.

 

His father pulled away slowly, but kept his hands wrapped around Stiles’ shoulders, still not quite ready to let go.

 

“I am so incredibly proud of you, Stiles,” he said earnestly. “But don’t think for one second that we aren’t going to have a serious talk when we get home. Starting with werewolves and ending with your much-older-than-you boyfriend slash murder suspect over there.” He nodded at Derek who honest to god blushed at the title ‘boyfriend’. Stiles didn’t even try to deny the relationship. He was grinning too hard at Derek’s awkwardness.

 

“Ok, dad,” Stiles agreed simply. The sheriff turned back to him with one eyebrow raised skeptically.

 

“That was a lot easier than I thought it would be,” he admitted. Erica snorted behind him and Derek continued to avoid the sheriff’s gaze.

 

“Dad, at this point, I know you’re not safer not knowing what’s going on. So I’d much rather get it all out there so you can at least know what’s coming for us.” The sheriff did not look as relieved by Stiles’ statement as he had expected.

 

“Are there more things coming for you?”

 

Ah. That would explain the concern.

 

“Not at the moment? At least not that we know of,” Stiles admitted reluctantly. His father leveled him with a withering look before sighing and pulling him into another hug.

 

“You are always going to be a handful aren’t you,” he asked exasperatedly.

 

“At least a handful,” Derek agreed under his breath. Erica burst out with a manic laugh at that and Derek’s face slowly grew redder as the implied meaning of his words came to him. Stiles pulled away from his father giggling like a child while his father glared at Derek accusingly.

 

“That’s, I didn’t, I’m sor…sir,” Derek eventually settled on before turning on his heel and high tailing it out of the mill. Erica and Stiles’ laughter followed him from the room.

 

“I think he may actually be scared of you, Dad. Big bad alpha afraid of one little old sheriff.”

 

“Who are you calling old, kid?” Stiles smiled back at his dad fondly.

 

“Alright Ms. Reyes, I’m entrusting you to get this hooligan to a hospital. Get yourself checked out too while you’re at it. I don’t like the amount of blood I see on your clothes.” Erica snapped to attention and nodded firmly, stopping short of giving an actual salute. “I’ll see you all at home in a couple hours.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Erica replied seriously, grinning as the sheriff pulled her into a one armed hug.

 

“See you at home, son.” Stiles nodded once and turned to hobble out of the mill. Taipa and Chris waited until they passed through the exit to follow.

 

“Alright, Erica, you know what to do,” Stiles said cryptically.

 

“Aye, aye, captain. Creep in the woods until we know the cavalry has arrived,” she recited with a mock salute. Like hell they were going to leave the sheriff all alone after everything they’d gone through to get him out safe.

 

“That’s my girl,” Stiles beamed at her as they limped off to join Derek just inside the tree line.

 

They stumbled into the forest where the rest of the pack was waiting, seated in the underbrush, hidden from sight, but still able to keep an eye on the mill until the deputies arrived. Jackson, Lydia, Chris, and Taipa wandered back to pick up the cars they had left on the side of the road a mile away. The rest of the pack would wait there, in the trees at the mill until their rides arrived. They could get themselves taken care of as soon as the sheriff was. 


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I suck and took way too long to put this out, again. I'm sorry. I did not think work would take over my mind as much as it does. Anyway, this is the big "all together now" chapter where all the missing blocks fall into place. Essentially, it's the end. I'm still gonna do at least one more chapter of some fluffy shit or PWP type stuff just because I've kind let that part slide recently. Plus it's always nice to end on a schmoopy note. Lol. But yeah, this is basically the main wrap up. Hopefully some of you may have figured some stuff out already and will be reminded how awesome you are at solving things. Others might just be pleasantly surprised. Some of you may wind up throwing your computer across the room and wishing you had never started reading this. I'm okay with any and all reactions. 
> 
> That being said, I hope you enjoy!

The sheriff sat silently on the edge of the hospital bed, bemusedly watching his son’s friends sneak into the room. The tall, dark, and handsome one, Boyd, had propped the door open in anticipation of the last wave of teens to sneak in. Visiting hours didn’t technically start for another hour and a half, but Stiles’ friends were relentless. He heard the footsteps stomping quickly down the hall long before the last crew arrived.

 

Boyd swung the door open to let Isaac and a native girl he had never met crash into the room. The girl tripped over Isaac as he stopped suddenly just inside the doorway, causing a three-kid-pileup as Boyd turned to follow them in. For being friends of Stiles’ who were apparently experts on sneaking around, they were surprisingly bad at sneaking around.

 

The sheriff was being treated by an increasingly agitated Melissa McCall. Stiles had already been taken care of by the time he got there, but he was glad she was able to keep them in the same room. Even if it did mean sharing the space with half of Stiles’ classmates. The blonde one, Erica he thought, had taken to handing her bandages and needles and whatever else she needed to try to appease some of the anger radiating off of the woman.

 

“We were supposed to regroup at the house, guys,” Stiles called out carelessly from his bed as he picked at the I.V. in his arm. The sheriff wondered vaguely if that’s where the Argents were. And that other woman, the one he didn’t even recognize. Or Lydia and Jackson for that matter. None of them had shown up at the hospital.

 

The three teens pretended to look sheepish for a split second before shrugging their shoulders in unison and scampering over to Stiles’ bed, fighting over who would get to sit at the end of it. Stiles seemed to watch the scuffle with glee as the girl moved with surprising agility for her size and jumped up onto the stiff mattress to sit beside him. Boyd and Isaac were just about to pull her from the bed when Melissa threw a stern glare towards them that froze them immediately. The sheriff silently wished he had that kind of control over his son, and his son’s friends for that matter. Melissa turned back to him with an annoyed huff, leveling him with a scolding look.

 

“It’s bad enough that our children can’t seem to keep out of trouble for more than a minute at a time. Do I have to start worrying about you constantly too,” she whispered angrily at him.

 

The words stung more than they should have. The sheriff knew how frustrating it was to watch the people you loved get hurt without being able to do anything to help. The pack had the decency to pretend the wince that followed was from the stitch she was sewing into his skin instead of the biting critique.

 

“I wasn’t exactly a willing participant in all of this, Melissa,” he attempted, only to have the nurse grab has jaw and turn his head to the side sharply, presumably for a better angle at the cut she was stitching up. Her face was livid, but her touch was as gentle and professional as always.

 

“Don’t talk, you’ll pull the stitches out,” she ordered bitterly. The teenagers in the room fell still at her harsh words. Her tone was sharp, but the sheriff could practically feel the worry laced beneath her words. He nodded shortly with a smirk as he averted his eyes. It was so reminiscent of Stiles it was scary.

 

“Yes dear.”

 

Melissa stopped abruptly, straightening to her full height and glaring down at him. Her hands stilled where they had been pulling at the needle and thread. The pack seemed to watch with bated breath as the sheriff’s smirk began to falter.

 

“Don’t you dare sass me when I am literally putting you back together. I have every right to be mad at you. You come in here with a dozen injured teenagers and ask me to ‘handle it quietly’,” she asked disbelievingly. “How about you explain to me what the hell has been happening and why our sons are, yet again, coming to the hospital looking like they’ve just pulled out of a war zone?”

 

The smirk quickly fell from the sheriff’s face as his expression turned stoic. His eyes drifted over the children in front of him.

 

No. Not children. After everything they had done for him in the past 24 hours, he could never consider them children again.

 

And yet, they were still so obviously young. The bemused grins on their faces did little to hide the soul weary tiredness that hung around them. The physical damage from the fight had been surprisingly minimal for most of them. They each had blood splattered across their clothes, but none of them seemed to be hurt. Not like the sheriff and Stiles were. That seemed off. He scanned the room again, looking for injuries he might have overlooked. But he saw nothing.

 

Not even a scratch.

 

Which was weird, wasn’t it?

 

The events of the previous night came screeching back to life in the sheriff’s mind as the word “werewolves” seemed to flash in front of him. He quickly scanned the group again, cataloguing all the cuts in their clothing that never seemed to reach their skin. His gaze flickered over to Scott who was sitting in the ‘comfiest chair Beacon Hills General has to offer’ according to Stiles. He had seen Scott before they carried him out of the mill; his legs were shredded down to the bone; he should have been in surgery.

  
But there he sat, perfectly healthy without a care in the world. The only hint that anything had even happened to him was the crutch resting next his chair.

 

A thought suddenly occurred to him. Melissa must have been the one to patch Scott up. Which meant she must know about his…condition. Which also meant she knew his son was running around with a bunch of mythical monsters and had never bothered to tell him.

 

Anger burned through him uncontrollably. Anger that he had been lied to by not only his son, but by one of his best friends as well. Anger that he hadn’t been able to do anything to keep his son out of danger. Anger that he hadn’t suspected something after all this time. (Not that he would have ever come to this specific conclusion, but he hadn’t even tried to look into his son’s odd behavior.) He turned his glare over the room, taking in the tired, but happy faces. Those young, tired faces that kept glancing at each other with a mixture of relief and wonder all mixed together.

 

All at once his anger was gone.

 

Maybe he had been lied to. Maybe he had been left out of the loop by a bunch of teenagers. And maybe he hadn’t been there to support and protect his son. But looking around that room, he realized: they had. This mishmash of kids had formed some sort of protective family and brought his son right into the middle of it. They trusted him enough to risk their lives over one of his harebrained schemes (because the sheriff had no doubt in his mind that the rescue had been Stiles’ brain child) and they cared for him enough to keep him safe when the sheriff couldn’t.

 

Melissa stared down at him, her face softened into an understanding grimace.

 

“How long have you known,” he couldn’t help but ask. She turned slightly, avoiding his gaze and looked to Scott, almost as if asking permission. Scott in turn looked to Derek Hale who had been hovering anxiously in the corner, arms crossed defensively in front of his chest. The sheriff still wasn’t entirely sure why the ex-murder suspect always seemed to be around, but there he was, right in the thick of it again. It took a moment for Scott to pull Derek’s attention away from the wall, but once he did, the man nodded once, almost imperceptibly and Scott smiled back at his mom almost apologetically.

 

“Not as long as you’d think,” she admitted, turning back to the sheriff. He could hear the relief in her voice as she finally let out ‘the big secret’. “Last year, at the station…that night…” Her eyes seemed to cloud over with memories. The sheriff knew which night she meant instantly. “That’s when I found out. It took some…adjusting on my part,” she added with a wince and an rueful look at her son, “but I got used to it pretty quickly. I’ve been trying to keep them safe, but you know how our kids are.”

 

The sheriff rolled his eyes with a groan, ignoring the twinge of pain the movement pulled from his split cheek. There was nothing more to explain. Not from her anyway.

 

The room fell silent again, nothing but the soft beep of machinery and the slow breaths of a dozen weary fighters. It probably wasn’t the best time to ask, but he needed to know.

 

“So, who’s going to fill me in on these supernatural shenanigans you’ve all been getting up to,” he asked the room at large. Stiles turned resolutely away, feigning sleepiness as he settled back against his pillow. The new girl, was her name Lisa, tried to hide her nervous giggles, but failed miserably. The rest of the teens exchanged curious glances before setting all of their gazes firmly on Derek. The man stared firmly at the floor, trying to ignore the weight of the eyes on him. He made the mistake of looking up, just for a moment, only to see a room full of expectant expressions staring back at him. He huffed out a sigh and rolled his shoulders in annoyance.

 

“Hey, I didn’t start any of this,” he argued insolently. The sheriff didn’t miss the quick glances that passed between Isaac, Erica, and Boyd before Derek sniffed in anger and looked away again. He was still pretending to be enraptured with the generic framed hospital art on the wall when Stiles groaned dramatically from the bed and pulled himself up, with a little help from Lisa (it was something like that).

 

“Fine, be pissy. Some great alpha you are,” he taunted Derek before turning to face his father. The sheriff stared him down, trying to keep his face blank, but expectant. Stiles sighed again and took over the conversation. “I’ll explain everything. But we’re gonna have to go back pretty far. Remember that time you caught me out in the woods looking for a dead body?”

 

\---

 

 

The sheriff ran his hands through his hair, a familiar nervous gesture that Stiles had picked up years before. The yelling and anger had died down a while ago, thankfully. But now the sheriff seemed to be caving in on himself, a jumbled mess of exhaustion, disbelief, and resignation. Stiles wasn’t sure which one was worse. The sheriff took in a shaky breath and finally met his son’s eyes for what felt like the first time since he had started the big talk.

 

“So you’re telling me, everyone in this room, everyone you’ve seen fit to spend your time with over the past year, is capable of killing you by barely lifting a finger? Many of which have already tried,” he asked morosely. The pack stiffened at the accusation, and Stiles swore he could hear a faint growl coming from Derek’s corner of the room, but all he could do was groan and roll his eyes.

 

“That’s all you got out of this,” he sighed incredulously. “I just told you the most amazing story that has every happened, about werewolves, and crazy hunters, and desperate revenge plots, and learning control, and building a family, and love literally bringing people back from the dead and changing them for the better, and all you got out of it was ‘my son is in way over his head’?”

 

The sheriff tried to look guilty, he really did. But he couldn’t stop himself from casting a wary glance around the room again, taking in all the unharmed teens that sat around his very harmed son. He looked back up in time to see Stiles glaring at him before throwing himself back against the pillows and sighing dramatically. God help his son’s flair for the dramatic.

 

“I’ll have you know,” he started again staring up at the ceiling as he spoke, “I have held my own against these people for two years. Two years, dad. I know how to handle them. They know how to handle me. Sure, there may have been some rough patches at the beginning,” all of the wolves exchanged guilty looks before turning their eyes back down to the ground in contrition, “but we’ve worked through them. They sort of protect me now, and I massively protect them.” It suddenly occurred to him how much he actually did protect the wolves. It was definitely starting to feel like he was massively winning in the ‘I saved your life’ category. “Actually, you know what, I protect them a hell of a lot. Maybe I should be the alpha here.”

 

Stiles smirked at his own stupid joke, but he could practically hear the betas’ eyes snap up to stare at him, tiny flames of gold and blue scattered across the room. The sheriff stiffened at the obvious reminder that his son’s friends weren’t entirely human as Melissa hissed in a quick, nervous breath, eyes dancing across the scene in front of her.

Stiles felt the shift in energy and sat back up nervously, turning his eyes back down from the ceiling. The betas were watching him, faces set with resolution. He jolted up straighter, whipping his head around to take in the matching determined expressions. At first he thought they were angry, in a ‘how dare he assume that position on his own?’ kind of way. But as he scanned the room a second time, he felt the respect and acknowledgement radiating from his friends.

 

They agreed with him.

 

Slowly, Stiles turned to the corner where Derek had been pretending to be invisible since he had arrived. He dreaded seeing the expression on the real alpha’s face. His betas were sitting there in open defiance, acknowledging another person as worthy, worthy of being their leader, even though their actual leader was right there. Stiles knew Derek cared about him, a lot actually, probably more than anyone else in the pack (which he would never say out loud, but he had the feeling everyone kind of already knew). But this might have taken things too far. It felt like he was trying to steal Derek’s family away, which he wasn’t. He just didn’t think before he spoke. Like always.

 

His eyes finally landed on Derek’s face, skin vibrating with nervous energy as he tried to decipher the man’s expression. The alpha was still staring at the floor, but the line of his shoulders was stiff and bothered. His arms were still crossed over his chest, shifting slightly with every slow breath he took in. His eyes flicked up to catch Stiles’ gaze, burning a fierce deep red. Stiles vaguely registered the sound of his heart monitor beeping faster and faster, but all of his senses seemed to be locked onto his alpha. His nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath, a soft pang of regret stabbing at his heart as he realized he could no longer smell the alpha’s scent. He could still feel the pull deep inside of him, much fainter than it had once been, but present, filling him with the swirling mass of emotions Derek was trying to hide. Stiles couldn’t even begin to pick them apart. He just sat there vibrating out of his skin from the maelstrom of his own warring emotions battling with Derek’s inside of him. Derek’s fierce eyes were still locked on his as if they were trying to bore right into him, sending waves of fear drenched shivers down Stiles’ spine. He could tell the betas were still watching him instead of Derek.

 

Suddenly Derek tilted his head forward. Stiles’ heart caught in his throat. What was happening? Was he going to attack him for challenging his position? God his dad would never be cool with them if Derek attacked him right in from of him.

 

Slowly Derek’s eyes flickered down to Stiles chest as he turned his head to the side, only slightly, but just enough to show a long line of exposed skin on his neck. Stiles’ eyes widened with understanding and his head whipped around to see the rest of the betas mimicking Derek’s stance. His heart raced back to life, beating uncontrollably as his pack surrounded him, giving themselves over to him in the most intimate way they could. His mind shorted out as he turned back to Derek, still standing in the sign of submission, eyes still glowing red, locked on Stiles’ rapidly beating heart.

 

As Stiles watched him, he heard a soft whine as the alpha’s ears turned pink at the tips and a blush crept up his exposed neck and across his cheeks. Derek’s eyes flicked up to Stiles’ for just a moment, flashing blindingly in the already bright room.

 

“Fuck,” Stiles gasped as Derek’s eyes flickered back down. He thought he was losing his mind. None of this should be happening, but especially not that.

 

Derek’s eyes had flashed blue.

 

Stiles turned back to rest of the pack, a piercing panic spreading through him. His breath turned to daggers in his lungs and his heart beat so fast the monitor sounded like a flat-line. He tore his eyes away from Derek and looked down at his hands, slowly counting on his fingers with every breath, trying desperately to quell the attack looming at the edge of his mind. Even through his own torrid emotions he could feel the pull of Derek reaching out helplessly, trying to soothe him as his lungs closed themselves off from the air he was frantically trying to suck in.

 

Stiles mind reeled with questions. What was happening? What did Derek’s eyes mean? Stiles couldn’t be the alpha, right? That made no sense at all. He wasn’t even a were anymore. Humans can’t be alphas.

 

Suddenly Derek was next to him, a heavy hand gripping his shoulder tightly, effectively pulling Stiles from his own mind. His head whipped around to look up into Derek’s softly glowing red eyes.

 

Still red. Still alpha.

 

The alpha smiled down at him gently as his eyebrows knit together in concern. As Stiles’ breathing slowly evened out, understanding spread through the older man’s features. The air punched out of Stiles’ lungs as Derek pulled him into a crushing hug.

 

“Ahh, ribs,” he reminded in a pained hiss. Derek jumped back like he had been burned, a tortured look on his face. But Stiles pulled him back in and gently wrapped his arms around the man’s solid waist. “It’s fine, just be a little more gentle. I’m a breakable human again, remember?”

 

Derek melted into the embrace slowly, awkwardly, as if he still wasn’t sure how hugs were supposed to work when they weren’t out of desperation. Stiles chuckled against him.

 

“You suck at hugging, dude.” Snickers echoed through the room from the betas who were subtly creeping closer to the bed. Even Scott had pulled himself up from the ‘comfiest chair Beacon Hills General had to offer’ and was hobbling towards the awkward embrace. The wolves’ eyes were still burning bright as they reached out to each lay a hand on Stiles in some way. The ache of panic drained from him immediately as the entire pack’s veins turned black. Stiles could finally breathe easily as the black vanished from his friends’ arms.

 

One by one the betas’ eyes dimmed back to their natural hues as they pulled away straightening back to their full heights, uneasy grins plastered across their lips. Stiles was still a state of shock, but a warm, soothing ball of calm slowly spread through him until all he could feel was the love of the people around him. He could actually feel it from everyone in the room like a tangible force wrapping around him.

 

“Um,” the sheriff’s confused voice broke through the comfortable bubble of pack love, “What just…I feel like I’m missing something here.” The betas turned to him, stifling giggles as they did. The sheriff watched Stiles expectantly, but Stiles waited for Derek to explain. He thought he knew what had just happened, but he didn’t want to make any assumptions. He knew what happened when you made assumptions. Slowly Derek pulled back, leaving Stiles with a meaningful look before turning to face the sheriff.

 

“We were…acknowledging Stiles’ efforts in protecting this pack,” he stated simply as if he hadn’t just startled Stiles into an almost panic attack. Stiles jaw fell open and his eyes squinted in disbelief at Derek’s candor. The alpha sighed at the look Stiles gave him and continued, voice fraught with embarrassment. “Specifically, I was deferring to him.”

 

All eyes in the room seemed to jump back and forth between Derek and Stiles for a long moment, trying to piece together what the alpha meant.

 

“I’m the alpha,” he growled out in frustration, watching as the betas shied away slightly at the tone of his voice. “But he’s mine.”

 

“Son, you don’t get to claim my son,” the sheriff started heatedly, but Derek cut him off with a whimper of pure mortification.

 

“I meant he’s my alpha…”

 

The words seemed to echo through the still air in the room. No one moved. No one even breathed. Everyone seemed to be frozen, watching the red blush coloring Derek’s face.

 

“Jackson is gonna throw a fit,” Boyd whispered to Erica.

 

Suddenly the room was filled with laughter as the betas howled in delight at the thought of Jackson’s outraged face. The mood relaxed infinitely after that, the wolves falling back into their easy camaraderie as Melissa returned to stitching up the sheriff. Scott hauled himself up onto Stiles’ bed and was slowly pushing Stiles out of the way so he could lie down as well. If Derek minded, he didn’t let it show. But he did keep his hand firmly on Stile’s arm as he pulled up a chair and took his own seat beside the bed. Kaliska jumped off in a huff of indignation and bounced over to join Isaac on the hospital equivalent of a ‘sofa’ (basically a cushioned windowsill).

 

Stiles felt incredibly safe nestled between his best friend and his…his Derek. He still wasn’t sure what exactly to call him. Boyfriend felt trivial. Mate felt a little too severe, although he supposed it was the most accurate. He figured he could decide what to call him later. All that mattered was that he was safe, they were all safe, and he was finally able to rest easy. He felt himself drifting off to sleep to the sound of Scott’s slow breaths and the feel of Derek’s calloused hand rubbing comforting circles into his skin.

 

\--

“Hey kiddo.” His father’s voice startled him back into the waking world with a jolt. Scott grumbled unhappily into his shoulder where he had curled himself in his sleep. Derek just held on tighter, willing his own calm into Stiles to relax him.

 

“I have to head down to the station to start filling out paperwork. Don’t worry,” he added at Stiles’ obvious disapproval, “Melissa cleared me to go. I promise I’m okay. A little bruised, a little broken, but okay. Still a bit confused about all of this,” he motioned to the wolves spread around the room, all of them drifting off to sleep in various uncomfortable positions on the chairs. Stiles wondered how long he’d been asleep that the wolves had all passed out too. “But we can talk about that later. It’s obvious they care about you and are willing to die to keep you safe. So I’ll let them keep an eye on you while I’m gone.”

 

The sheriff shifted on his feet nervously, like he wanted to lunge forward and wrap his son in a hug and never let go. He settled for reaching over Scott to tousle Stiles’ lack of hair and squeeze his shoulder.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered quietly, trying not to wake the sleeping wolves around them. “I don’t know if I ever thanked you, for everything. You’ve got a good group of friends here and you should be proud of them. You should be proud of yourself. I know I am. You’ve grown up a lot more than I even knew, and I’ll probably hate myself for a while for not noticing it until now.”

 

Stiles bit back on the bitter lump that crawled up his throat at his father’s words. It wasn’t a free pass on all the crap he had done, but it was as close to one as he was going to get. His father was proud of him. It felt like he could breathe for the first time in two years, weights lifting from his heart that he hadn’t even known he was carrying.

 

“Thanks, dad,” he choked out, voice squeaking as he swallowed down the tears that threatened to spill. The sheriff gave him a final squeeze before patting Scott’s floppy hair and stepping away from the bed. He turned back suddenly, facing Derek until the man looked up at him.

 

“You take care of my boy while I’m gone.” Derek’s eyes widened in surprise. The sheriff huffed out a laugh at the bizarre expression on the alpha’s face. “That doesn’t mean I completely condone what all has been going on here. I think you and I are going to have to have a long talk soon, but I know you’ve been looking out for these kids and I’m trusting you to continue to do so. Don’t let me down, son.”

 

Derek nodded solemnly, glancing between the sheriff and his son with a pained expression. Stiles wrapped his hand over Derek’s where it still lay against his arm.

 

“Don’t worry, I think he likes you,” he said lightly, pulling a groan from the alpha and a laugh from his father.

 

“I’ll be back later,” he chuckled as he turned to leave, gathering his things from the only empty chair left in the room. He turned back one last time, watching the way Derek’s eyes danced across his son’s face. The sheriff’s face turned somber as recognition dawned on him. He knew that look all too well; it was the same way he used to look at Stiles’ mother. He nodded at the pair of them as he pulled the door shut behind him.

 

Stiles laid back into the bed, Derek’s hand wrapped in his own as he fell back into an easy sleep.

 

\---

 

 

Stiles was jostled awake by Scott, who was squirming uncontrollably. Honestly he was surprised that he hadn’t been pushed off the bed yet. Scott’s leg must have really been bothering him. There was only one reason he would be squirming so much and Stiles grimaced at the thought of it.

 

“Dude, if you piss in this bed, I’m going to punch you in the nuts so hard,” he groaned as Scott laughed out loud.

 

“I’m too lazy to get up,” he whined, “It’s so comfortable here.”

 

“Scottie, I’m pretty sure Derek will rip your face off if you pee on me. He’s kind of territorial, in case you haven’t noticed,” Stiles whispered loudly to a chorus of snorts from across the room. Derek growled his agreement from the other side of Stiles.

 

“Ugh, fine,” he groaned in mock annoyance. “Iiiisaaaac,” he whined dramatically, “Can you carry me to the bathroom?”

 

Suddenly Erica was at the side of the bed flicking Scott across the nose.

 

“Get up lazy ass,” she ordered, startling Scott into an upright position. “We’ll all go get some snacks or something. You can stretch your leg out and we can get Stiles some Reese’s Pieces. My neck’s getting stiff from sleeping in a chair anyway.”

 

The betas all lumbered to their feet and fell in behind Erica. Boyd gently pulled her hand into his as Isaac helped Scott to his feet and turned to face Derek hopefully.

 

“Um…do you have any money,” he asked quietly, looking like a child asking for more quarters at the arcade. Stiles stifled a laugh as Derek dug out his wallet and threw it at Isaac, who barely managed to catch it, werewolf reflexes or not. “Thanks!”

 

“I think the machine with Reese’s is down at the other end of the other wing,” Boyd added helpfully as Erica pulled him out of the room.

 

With that, the betas disappeared in search of junk food and the room feel into a peaceful stillness.

 

Kaliska had taken up residence on the sheriff’s abandoned bed and looked to be fast asleep still. It made sense; it was probably the first time she had been able to sleep soundly in years.

 

Derek slowly stood and released Stiles’ hand so he could stretch out, his shirt pulling up just over the waistband of his jeans to reveal a tantalizing stretch of muscle and tan skin. Stiles reached out absently, stroking the exposed skin softly before Derek swatted his hand away with what sounded like a muffled frantic giggle. Stiles’ eyes lit up in delight at the revelation.

 

“Ohmygod, you’re ticklish,” he exclaimed far too excitedly for Derek’s liking. The alpha frowned at him and pulled his shirt down roughly, hiding his bare skin from Stiles’ reach. “That is fucking priceless. Big bad alpha afraid of the tickle monster.” He even added the jazz hands for the full effect. Derek’s frown turned into a glare.

 

“If you ever refer to anything as a tickle monster again, unless you’re talking to our kids, I will break all of your fingers.” The alpha’s eyes flared red threateningly, but stopped short at the blank expression on Stiles’ face. “What?”

 

“Our kids,” he questioned lightly. Derek shook his head trying to figure out what Stiles was talking about. The boy sat up, face breaking into a grin as he pressed on. “You said our kids. Like you and me. You want to have kids with me? You think we’re going to be together that long?”

 

Derek froze in place, panic washing over his face. Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that. He knew that he wanted to be with Stiles forever. He knew when they had claimed each other that it would be the last claim he ever laid. But Stiles wasn’t even an adult yet. He couldn’t expect him to want that too. Stiles had no idea what forever meant, he didn’t have the capacity to agree to it. Derek’s mind reeled backward trying to come up with some way to explain it all away as a joke, but he was broken from his thoughts by a gentle hand on his face. He pulled back instinctively, blinking his eyes back into focus just in time to see the hurt in Stiles eyes as he pulled his hand back.

 

“Sorry, big guy, you just seemed to be fazing out there for a minute. You know I was just teasing right?” Derek’s face fell, his back-pedaling turning against him. He had wanted to explain it away, but he hadn’t wanted Stiles to rebuke the idea so easily. Stiles smiled knowingly at the frown on Derek’s face. “I mean, yeah, some day kids would be nice, but I’m still in high school dude, so you’re gonna have to wait a while.”

 

Derek looked back at up at him, cautious hope lighting his face.

 

“I know I’m young and this whole ‘mates’ thing means forever and you’re probably trying really hard not to push me into it, which I appreciate, seriously, but you don’t have to be scared to talk about it. I kinda knew what I was getting into, even if I did jump in a little overzealously. And I’m learning. I have absolutely no desire to leave you, like at all. And I really can’t see myself wanting to anytime soon. So let’s just leave it at that for now. We can talk about the future later. When it’s less scary for both of us. ‘Kay?”

 

Stiles looked back at him, his eyes crinkled with amusement, but his expression sincere. Derek smiled shyly before ducking his head into Stiles neck and gently wrapping his arms around the boy’s narrower torso.

 

The door to the room clicked open seconds later followed by an embarrassed cough. Stiles turned his head, arms still wrapped around Derek’s shoulders, to see Deputy Parrish standing in the doorway. Stiles grunted unhappily as he tapped at Derek’s shoulder.

 

“We have some unexpected company, bud.” Derek pulled away begrudgingly to see who was there, but he quickly jumped back at the sight of Randy in the doorway.

 

“So,” he started, hands fidgeting with his notepad anxiously, “I see you decided to not heed my advice.”

 

Stiles stared at him confused, but Derek shied away guiltily. It didn’t take long to figure out what had happened.

 

“How long have you known about us,” he asked the deputy. Parrish just smirked back at him, eyes glinting mischievously.

 

“Assuming it was you who put that serious mark on his neck that day at the school, I’ve known for a while. The real question is, does the sheriff know?”

 

Stiles smirked back triumphantly.

 

“As a matter of fact, he does. And he’s cool with…whatever it is Derek and I have going on,” he added with a flair of his wrist, motioning between them. He wasn’t sure how much Parrish knew about their relationship and didn’t want to give anything away.

 

“So he’s cool with the fact that you’re mated to an alpha werewolf, forever?”

 

Stiles’ jaw fell open in shock. How the hell did Parrish know about werewolves?

 

“I’m sorry? Did you hit your head or something,” he asked mockingly, trying valiantly to throw him off.

 

“Oh, Stiles, you’re so much better than that. Mocking concern? Come on. You have to be craftier than that to hide this kind of relationship.”

 

Stiles turned to Derek nervously. The alpha had remained silent since Parrish had come in. Parrish laughed at the anxiety written across their faces.

 

“Don’t worry kids, I’m not gonna say anything to the old man. You can have that conversation when the time comes.” They both looked at him with matching hopeful expressions. “Honestly, I don’t like confrontation all that much. I know, I picked the wrong line of work, right?”

 

Stiles stared at him like he had just sprouted a second head, and that head only spoke in rainbows, and the rainbows were made of gummy worms. He was beyond confused is the point.

 

“What are you doing here,” he asked ineloquently. Parrish frowned for a moment before setting his smirk back in place.

 

“I’m just checking up on my good buddies. I heard you two had a hell of a night last night. I imagine all of you did,” he added with a furtive glance at Kaliska that seemed to hold too long.

 

“Good buddies? I barely know you. I don’t even know your first name,” Stiles countered, voice thick with caution. Parrish’s frown returned.

 

“Well that is just disappointing,” he said distractedly as he stepped further into the room, and closer to Kaliska.

 

“Randy, what are you actually doing here,” Derek finally asked from beside Stiles. Parrish turned to smile at him pityingly.

 

“Good try, Derek. But that’s not my name. Sure, it’s the name I gave you, but it’s not real. Stiles knows the real one. Stiles is the only one who knows my real name. Not even this little one ever figured it out,” he added with a pat to Kaliska’s bed. He turned to watch her rustle further into the sheets before flicking his gaze back to Stiles’ confused face. Stiles watched him closely, sure that Parrish was having a nervous breakdown. But suddenly, Parrish’s eye flashed a brilliant amber color and the chokingly strong scent of burning filled the room.

 

Stiles’ arm shot out to latch into Derek’s as his jaw fell completely open in shock.

 

“You. You? YOU!?” Stiles’ mind spun in a million different directions trying to make sense of the new information.

 

Parrish was the fox. The other fox. The one that had saved him. The one that had saved Derek.

 

Parrish was Kwahn.

 

Parrish was a _god_?

 

The deputy’s eyes danced in delight as he watched Stiles mutter to himself, piecing everything together. Derek simply stood there, face blank, though his scent radiated confusion.

 

“Hello Derek,” Parrish said falsely as Stiles continue to mutter, “My name is Kwahn. I’m what you might call a deity. I’m pretty specific to the Miwok people, but I’ve been known to branch out for special circumstances. Like this one.”

 

Derek’s jaw clenched shut in defiance, but his eyes widened in surprise and confusion.

 

“How long,” Stiles asked suddenly, eyes locked on Kaliska’s restless form, “How long have you been protecting them?”

 

Parrish smiled up at him, quickly recognizing where Stiles’ gaze truly lay.

 

“A while now,” Parrish admitted. “I’ve been leading them to safety as best as I could, without stepping in directly. But then I found you. I realized that you really might be able to help them, protect them. So I led them here. And I must say, you did not disappoint.”

 

“What?” Derek’s voice was small and lost in the darkening room. Stiles hadn’t realized the day had gotten so late. He glanced at the clock on the wall, which read 2:30. Wait, what? 2:30? Why was it so dark?

 

He really should have expected the sudden crash of thunder overhead. Parrish grinned at him, a devilish twinkle in his eye, as more pieces of the puzzle slammed into place.

 

“Oh,” Stiles exclaimed, slapping at Derek’s arm absently in his excitement.

 

“Good,” Parrish urged, “You’re putting it all together. Let’s hear it then.” He pulled a chair up to the end of Stiles’ bed and plopped down gracelessly, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

 

“Um, what? Like you want me to tell you what you’ve been doing here,” Stiles questioned dubiously. Parrish nodded fervently and clasped his hands over his chest, settling back into the chair like he was about to be read a story. Stiles looked over at Derek who seemed annoyed that he hadn’t quite put everything together yet. Or maybe he was just annoyed that Parrish had been right under their noses the entire time and he hadn’t noticed.

 

Actually, how had he hidden under their noses? He really must have been able to hide his scent. Just like he had made it stand out when he walked in a moment before. Stiles stared back at the unimposing man before him, knowing the truth hidden below the surface: he was seriously powerful.

 

“Ok,” he agreed finally, “if I tell you what I think I have figured out, will you tell me whatever I get wrong or miss?” Parrish’s smile grew even wider. He nodded once, earnestly, before motioning for Stiles to begin.

 

“Ok. So I assume you’re the one who turned Kaliska, to save her.” Parrish nodded encouragingly. “But you weren’t thrilled with the fact that she started to think of the gift as a curse, so you…no, wait. You never did anything to hurt her, did you?” Stiles’ words started to come quicker as he thought out loud, piecing the puzzle together.

 

“Alright, you tried to lead Lis and Taipa away from danger, but you couldn’t get too close. So you happened to find a pack of wolves who looked like they had gotten pretty good at taking in the ‘tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free’ and decided to let them try their luck here.” He looked up for acknowledgement from Parrish, but the man/god just motioned for him to continue.

 

“Ok, so that first night in the woods, that really was an accident. Lis wasn’t meant to bite me.” Parrish nodded consolingly. “But she did. And I was turned. And you didn’t know that would happen, did you?” Parrish stiffened slightly at being called out, but he smiled shyly and nodded again as another crash of thunder sounded from outside.

 

“Perfect. Alright, so the day she came back to Derek’s house was honestly just her checking on me. She didn’t really know I would turn either. And I take it the tornado storm thing that got her away from me that night, after I broke her leg, was you as well.” Parrish nodded gravely and Stiles winced internally at the memory of breaking the small fox’s leg. “So you left the arrow head as a calling card? Or an actual clue to put us into the right path? Right. Ok, so then we get kidnapped while you’re at the club trying to grind all up on Derek…wait a second. You’ve been in the sheriff’s department for months! How could you have been here while you were still leading Lis?”

 

Parrish squirmed anxiously under Stiles’ questioning glare.

 

“Ok, so maybe Randy Parrish is a real name and a real person, who just so happens to be a perfect vessel for a fox deity,” he said casually. Stiles gaped at him in outrage.

“Oh stop it, he’s fine. Or he will be once I leave. He happened to be out in the preserve that first night. There had been a call about some hunter roaming the area. He happened to be a perfect fit for me so I could keep a closer eye, so I took it.”

 

“The gunshot,” Derek said suddenly, turning to stare at Stiles with concern. “That night, when you were bitten. There was a gunshot that had us all turned around. The hunters were already here.” He turned to Parrish – no, Kwahn – for confirmation. The man nodded solemnly.

 

“Ok. Ok,” Stiles started back up, “So you took over Parrish to keep a closer eye on us, but you had to have reason. So you took advantage when Derek came to the Sheriff’s Department with me, to get closer to him, find out if the pack was able to help, if we were actually trustworthy. But then why did you let us get kidnapped,” he added, voice suddenly thin with hurt.

 

“Ah, right that…um, well I am a god of mischief and I do enjoy a beautiful body when I see, or have one, and…uh…”

 

“Oh. My. God.” Stiles rolled his eyes at the guilty looking man before him. “You were actually too busy getting a boner from dancing with Derek to even realize we were gone,” he hissed accusingly. Kwahn at least had the decency to look penitent.

 

“I tried to help once I realized. I pushed that one in the right direction,” he said insolently with a nod towards Derek.

 

“By threatening to expose me,” Derek seethed. Stiles hadn’t realized how angry Derek had gotten. He reached out in an attempt to calm Derek, but the man shrugged him off. “No. No, Stiles. All this _man_ has done since he got here is torment me. He let my mate get turned right under my nose. He toyed with me and distracted me enough to let you get kidnapped. He threatened to expose me. He threatened to turn me over as a pedophile!” Stiles’ eyes narrowed into a ferocious glare and snapped to Kwahn’s face.

 

“You what,” he hissed. Kwahn held up his hands in defense.

 

“Ok, I can see how some of my actions may have come across wrong. But I AM a god of mischief. I can’t always be straightforward. In fact I can never be straightforward. That’s why you’re telling the story here.” He turned to Derek, his face morphed with contrition. “I didn’t want to expose you. I just wanted you to know that I knew you could help him. And the other thing, well, that may have been partially fun for me to see you squirm, but it was at least partially meant in earnest.” Derek scoffed at the arrogant tone in Kwahn’s voice.

 

“Oh yeah, tons of fun,” Derek spat back sarcastically, “...asshole.”

 

“So the fact that Taipa showed up to save the day was completely by luck,” he sneered.

 

“Actually, yeah. I gotta say, she is one tough cookie. I was impressed by that one too,” Kwahn admitted jovially. Derek scowled at him incredulously.

 

“Ok,” Stiles interrupted, “So all this other crap that’s happened, you just sat back and watched? Just to see how we’d handle it?”

 

“Sort of. I mean my hands were tied. You did well though,” he added, as if it were some great accomplishment.

 

“You let my dad get kidnapped.”

 

“Ok, some stuff I probably should have seen happening. But hey, it got you all to cooperate and you took out some pretty terrible people. I’m not allowed to interfere that directly, so you really helped me out.”

 

Stiles stared at him, brows knitted together in confusion. Derek continued to glare from the bedside, clearly not in a forgiving mood.

 

“You’re a god. How are you not allowed to do something?” Kwahn sniffed angrily at that.

 

“You remember the whole origin story Taipa gave you? Yin and Yang, Fox and Coyote? Yeah, Coyote kind of gets to make the rules. I get to bend them to their breaking point, but she can stop me from actually stepping over that line altogether.”

 

Stiles huffed out a bitter laugh. “At least someone can hold you responsible.”

 

“Hey, that tone is not necessary. I’ll have you know I saved both your lives, even though I’m not supposed to,” Kwahn argued, “How about a little gratitude?”

 

Stiles and Derek turned matching scowls at the man.

 

“We wouldn’t have even been there if it weren’t for you,” he reminded the man angrily, voice growing louder as he continued. “My dad wouldn’t have been there if it weren’t for you. Scott wouldn’t have almost died if it weren’t for you. Derek and I wouldn’t have ACTUALLY DIED if it weren’t for you. So don’t expect a big thank you card.”

 

Kwahn threw himself back in the chair petulantly and thrust his hands into his pockets. A moment later, he pulled out a necklace: a simple leather cord attached to the silver arrowhead they had found when Lis vanished.

 

“Look, you tickle me kid. You made a much better fox than you had any right to and you were far too crafty for me not to like you. I came here with the intention of giving you this, but now I’m not so sure I want to.”

 

The necklace hung down from Kwahn’s hand, spinning just enough to catch the light.

 

“How would that make up for everything you’ve done to us,” Derek asked bitterly. “Why the hell would Stiles even want a necklace of all things?” He nudged Stiles, expecting an agreement, but was surprised to see the boy starting at the necklace with hunger.

 

Stiles could feel it. His eyes watched the light dance around the necklace, pulling his gaze ever tighter to it. The rest of the room blackened out to shadows. All he could see was the glint of silver hanging from the god’s hands. He could smell the burning scent, feel the thrum of energy; he could practically taste the power within it.

 

It was his fox.

 

He didn’t know how, or why, or what made him so sure, but somehow he knew. Inside that necklace was all of the power he had gotten so used to having.

 

Kwahn watched him with a wicked smile.

 

“I see you’ve figured out what this is. You really are a clever kid,” he complimented sincerely.

 

Derek sniffed at the air, trying to figure out what was so important about the necklace. All at once the scent of burnt honeysuckle hit his nose, almost throwing him backwards with relief he didn’t expect. He had hated that lingering burnt scent that had clung to Stiles when he was turned. But now, smelling it again, he realized that that Stiles was the one who had claimed him, mated himself to him, loved him. He suddenly ached to have that Stiles again.

 

Kwahn shifted from his defensive position to a more natural, inviting one.

 

“I wanted to give you something since you’ve been so much fun to watch and I figured you had earned it. Not to be ‘cursed’ with it all the time, but to be able to use it when you wanted to and put it away when you didn’t. It doesn’t quite seem fair that you run with wolves, but so often get left behind. I thought this might make things more interesting.”

 

Stiles’ mouth began to water from the need he felt pulling at him. He desperately wanted to be able to run with his pack on even footing. He yearned for the equality the fox had given him. He glanced at Derek who was staring at the necklace with the same sincere desire Stiles felt. Derek missed his fox too.

 

He turned back to see Kwahn smirking at them. The god looked down at the pendant a little wistfully before tossing the necklace at Stiles.

 

As soon as the silver pendant touched his skin, he felt electricity shoot throughout his body. He quickly pulled the cord over his head and fell backwards as the spirit of the fox raced through his body, lighting his nerve endings on fire and dancing through his blood only to settle comfortably into his chest, purring contently at being home. Stiles hissed out a shaky breath, reveling in the renewed strength of his bond with Derek. He could smell the smoky pine scent all over himself and he practically purred in contentment himself. His eyes snapped open, glowing brilliant amber as he grinned at the ceiling. He could feel himself mending slowly. Well, slowly compared to a wolf, but definitely faster than a human.

 

“Thank you, Kwahn,” he sighed out, deliriously happy.

 

“No problem kid,” Kwahn said, feigning graciousness. “Just promise me something.”

 

“Anything,” Stiles mumbled, still rolling in delight as the fox rubbed against his chest, sending warm tendrils of light through his body.

 

Kwahn stood and padded up to Kaliska’s restless form. He looked almost regretful.

 

“Take care of her.” Stiles sat up suddenly, glancing between Kwahn’s apologetic face and Kaliska’s shifting body. “She’ll learn to control it if you help her. She just needs stability. She’s a good kid. Don’t let her get lost.”

 

Stiles felt a surge of affection for Kaliska and Kwahn. He knew it as true now as he had before, Lis was part of the pack. She would always be protected.

 

“Of course. She’s pack now. Fox or not,” Stiles assured him. Derek grunted his agreement, still watching Kwahn skeptically. Although, Stiles didn’t miss the subtle way Derek kept sniffing at him happily.

 

Kwahn laid a gentle hand on Kaliska’s shoulder and her restless movements stopped immediately. She sighed into the pillow, turning to curl towards Kwahn’s warmth.

 

“She may need some help adjusting. She’s had nightmares for years. Don’t let her stay scared.” His voice had lost its teasing, nonchalant tone. He actually sounded miserable.

 

“You know that’s not your fault, right,” Stiles asked sincerely. Kwahn shrugged the question off. “Seriously. You saved her life. Yeah, it might have gotten a little more challenging there for a while, but in the end you still saved her life. And now she has a pack. And we have a Kaliska. I think that makes up for a lot.”

 

Kwahn smiled back at him, a broken grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

“Thanks, kid.” Kwahn turned to leave, slowly pulling away from Kaliska. Stiles wondered if she had been the first person he really affected so directly in a while. He definitely seemed pretty attached. The god turned to face them as he reached the door. “Don’t be afraid to keep in touch. I may not always respond, but I’m always listening.”

 

With a twist of his wrist and turn of his heel, he was gone.

 

“I don’t suppose we’ll see him again any time soon. At least not him-him. I guess we’ll be trying to fill Parrish in when he wakes back up,” Stiles mused distractedly.

 

A part of him felt broken at the absence of Kwahn. He imagined it was the fox part of him, the part Kwahn had made, that was mourning, but it sure felt like a lot of him. It wasn’t until he blinked and tears spilled from his eyes that he even realized how sad he was.

 

The bed dipped as Derek pulled himself up onto it. He gently positioned Stiles onto his side and wrapped himself around him. They couldn’t really claim ‘big spoon’ or ‘little spoon’ anymore considering they were practically the same size. Derek might have a bit of girth on Stiles, but Stiles’ limbs were always gangly enough to reach around him. But this wasn’t about spooning, or protecting, or anything so animalistic. This was even simpler. Stiles was sad and he needed comfort. And Derek was the one to give it to him, finally.

 

Stiles pushed back into Derek’s chest, wrapping the alpha’s arms tighter around him as he nestled into the flat hospital pillow. He could feel Derek’s heartbeat tapping out a steady cadence against his back, could feel the warmth of his body seeping into his skin. The smell of smoky pine blended seamlessly into his burnt, honeysuckle aroma. He could taste Derek on his lips, even without having kissed him, a sensory memory dancing across his mouth. He purred deep in his chest and sighed happily as Derek reciprocated.

 

The door to the room slammed open as the betas returned, cheering loudly about the spoils of their trip to the vending machines.

 

“Aww, Scott it looks like you lost your spot man,” Isaac cooed mockingly at the sight of Derek and Stiles curled up on the bed. A bag of Reese’s Pieces hit Stiles in the stomach as someone flung a Snickers at Derek. The alpha’s hand shot up to catch it, much to the dismay of whoever had thrown it. The groan of disappointment was hard to miss.

 

Erica plopped herself down in Derek’s vacant chair next to Stiles’ side of the bed as Isaac deposited Scott on the windowsill cushions where he could stretch out his leg. Boyd pulled up another chair and sprawled out across it, leaning his head back against the wall as he ate his Skittles. Isaac stood next to the couch, at a loss for where to sit until Lis’ sleep softened voice called out for him.

 

“Just lay down here. I can move over. Just don’t push me off,” she teased lightly.

 

Stiles’ heart clenched at the ease with which she already interacted with the pack. Derek smiled into his neck from behind him, licking a quick stripe behind his ear that sent a tremor through his entire body.

 

“Knock it off asshole, no one wants to see all that,” he admonished gently. He opened his eyes to see Erica watching them with amusement.

 

“I don’t know, I might like to watch sometime,” she admitted truthfully. And Stiles could actually hear that she was telling the truth. He breathed in deep, pretending it was in annoyance when really he was trying to scent the pack, reveling in the mix of smells that had come to mean home. Erica’s eyes seemed to catch on Stiles throat as he swallowed down a happy sigh.

 

“Hey, nice necklace. When’d you get that,” she asked, genuinely curious. Stiles knew she loved odd jewelry. He grinned up at her.

 

“Gift from a friend,” he answered knowingly, letting his eyes flash amber as he spoke. Erica jumped out of the chair, eyes bright with excitement, hands flailing at her sides. The smile on her face was worth the surprise reveal.

 

“What the fuck, Stiles!?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I missed any plot holes (most of which were intentional at the time), please let me know!! 
> 
> Also, if you want to see anything specific in the next chapter(s), shoot me a message/comment. I'd love to fulfill some fantasies before I sign off on this forever. It has been a beast of an undertaking, but you all have made it worth it. So thanks for the support!!


	34. Chapter 34

Stiles was pacing outside of his own kitchen, nerves flayed to the breaking point with his heart rabbiting in his chest.

 

He had been released from the hospital that afternoon after waking up from his pack power nap to find that he had miraculously recovered. His father had been beyond skeptical and there had been a lot of yelling about malpractice, but the sheriff couldn’t really complain that Stiles _wasn’t_ hurt. The doctors were baffled. Stiles had tried valiantly to come up with some kind of excuse that wouldn’t reveal his renewed supernatural status, but his mind was traitorously blank. Derek actually proved helpful by convincing the sheriff that the wolves could help speed other people’s healing and not just their own. Stiles tried his hardest to hide his knowing smirk from Melissa McCall, but she had always been good at calling his bluffs.  She pulled him aside immediately after the sheriff left the room to have a very hushed, but very heated conversation.

 

 _“Did Derek bite you,”_ she hissed into his face, voice heavy with anxiety and fear. His amusement fell short at the look of unbridled worry in her face.

 

 _“What? No! No. He had nothing to do with…this,”_ he had assured with a vague gesture to himself. She hadn’t looked very relieved by his claim. He had sighed out a breath, trying to pull his expression into one of utmost sincerity. _“I promise. Derek did not bite me. Derek has not hurt me. None of the wolves have hurt me.”_ He was endlessly thankful that she couldn’t hear the slight tick of his heartbeat that accompanied the last statement. He couldn’t in good conscience say that he had never been hurt by the pack, but it wasn’t in the way she was thinking.

 

 _“H..how then,”_ she had stammered, doubt warring with relief on her face as she involuntarily clutched at his shoulders, pulling him closer and closer until he was wrapped in a hug. He felt awkward as he attempted to comfort the woman who had become his surrogate mother over the years. But she needed it, and he was hardly going to refuse her. He had stood there, held by her tired arms as she breathed gently into his shoulder until she was calm. He hadn’t realized how small she was until then, how frail she seemed. Suddenly Scott’s desperate need to keep her safe at all costs made a lot more sense.

 

She had pulled away abruptly and held him at arms length with a fierce look. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought she was a were from the glow of determination in her eyes.

 

 _“You HAVE to tell your father. Today,”_ she demanded, leaving no room for argument. _“You can’t keep this from him. He may not understand at first, but he needs to know.”_

 

Stiles had frozen in her grip. He had been so thrilled with the idea of having his fox back that he hadn’t even thought about telling his father. He had conveniently omitted that part from the story when he explained the whole were situation in Beacon Hills. It hadn’t seemed necessary considering he had been human again at the time.

 

But now he wasn’t. Well he wasn’t really a were anymore either; it was more like an ‘as needed’ type deal. His thoughts battled in his mind. If he hadn’t told his father before, when he was actually a permanent (or what he thought was permanent) fox, why should he tell him now when it was voluntary? He didn’t know how to explain it to Melissa either, or even if he wanted to.  But her eyes were too pleading to refuse. Scott definitely came by his puppy eyes honestly.

_“Okay. I’ll try.”_

 

 

Which was how he ended up hovering outside of the kitchen as his father heated up leftovers for dinner. The sheriff had been stuck at the station most of the afternoon trying to clear up what happened at the mill. He made sure to call and check in every hour since Stiles had settled back into the Stilinski home, with the aid of nearly the entire pack who had refused to leave his side. It was almost touching, if it weren’t also overbearingly suffocating. Unsurprisingly tripping over half a dozen people who wouldn’t stop fawning over him constantly even though he wasn’t even injured anymore grew tiring very quickly. He had sent them home minutes before his father was due to return from work under the pretense of wanting some one on one time with his father.

 

Honestly he just didn’t want them to see if his father took the news poorly, which was still a 50/50 chance. Although he hadn’t really felt the _need_ to tell his father about all that had happened, at least part of him wanted to. And that was going to have to be enough. As long as he could continue to work up his nerve now that the pack wasn’t around to back him up.

 

“You gonna stop sulking out there anytime soon,” his father’s voice echoed out of the kitchen. Stiles jumped at being found out and staggered into the doorway nervously.

 

“I wasn’t sulking,” he attempted pitifully as his father motioned for him to take a seat. He threw himself down petulantly and reached across the table to steal a carrot from his father’s plate, simply so his hands had something to do.

 

“So, what is it that you’re obviously trying to work up the nerve to tell me now,” he asked astutely. “You gonna tell me my deputies are actually all were-cheetahs or something? Or has some new murderous band of criminals swooped into town in the last 3 hours hellbent on killing my family?”

 

Sometimes he hated the fact that his father was so good at his job. The fox bristled inside of him, nervously pacing in his chest while Stiles tried to start what was sure to be another of the most awkward conversations he and his father would ever have. His hand absently found its way to the silver necklace lying against his collarbone as his father leveled him with his scrutinizing gaze. He didn’t doubt his father had noticed and made some assumption about the absent gesture.

 

“That from your boyfriend?”

 

Stiles nearly fell out of his seat. His father tried to hide his grin, not very hard though.

 

“Wha-who-why-What are you talking about,” Stiles finally settled on as he tried desperately to calm his flailing limbs and racing heartbeat. Derek hadn’t even given him the necklace, he didn’t know why he felt so guilty about it.

 

“Son, I may not always pay attention to what you get up to, but I’d have to be blind to not notice the way that boy looks at you,” the sheriff announced nonchalantly, popping a carrot into his mouth, the picture of innocence. Stiles’ jaw dropped in disbelief. There was no way his father was okay with Derek dating him. Except, they weren’t really dating; Stiles wasn’t sure what they were doing.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Stiles stared into his fathers’ eyes unblinkingly and crossed his arms over his chest. The sheriff quirked an eyebrow at him, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth.

 

“You really want to play it that way, son?” Stiles tried not to bristle as his father lowered the fork to the table and clasped his hands in front of himself. He shrank back in his chair under his father’s scrutinizing gaze. The sheriff deflated some at Stiles’ anxious posture. “Seriously son, you know that doesn’t matter to me. I’ll admit I ever really saw it coming, but it’s not a big deal. Besides, Isaac’s a nice kid. And he’s definitely a looker. I can see the appeal. “

 

Stiles thought his jaw might actually hit the floor. He took back everything he previously thought about his father’s detective skills. Isaac? Sure, Isaac was great, but really? He had no interest in Isaac, at all.

 

“Isaac. Isaac? ISAAC?? You think I’m dating Isaac?” His hands seemed to gesture more wildly with every word. The sheriff watched Stiles’ antics with mild amusement.

 

“You can deny it if it makes you feel better,” the sheriff finally relented, “but I want you to know I’m okay with you liking…whoever it is you like. Okay?”

 

His sincerity was painful. The sheriff was honestly convinced that his only son was trapped in the closet and secretly dating one of his friends. He wasn’t entirely wrong about the secretly dating part, but the trapped in the closet part hurt. Stiles forgot all about the secret he had meant to tell as the next words tumbled out of his mouth.

 

“I’m in love with Derek.”

 

His hands flew to his mouth, eyes blown wide as his own words rang through the suddenly silent kitchen. The sheriff’s bemused expression turned stormy in an instant, scent shifting from welcoming to threatened and angry in a heartbeat. Stiles couldn’t help but feel offended on Derek’s behalf. What, he could like boys, as long as they were boys his dad chose? No, thank you.  Besides his dad had never really gotten to know the real Derek, the non-murder-suspect Derek. His Derek.

 

“I hope you mean a Derek I have yet to meet, Stiles, because if you mean Derek Hale, we are going to have a very different discussion. About statutory laws. Preferably while said _Derek_ is gagged and cuffed to a wall in a holding cell.”

 

Stiles swallowed down his sudden primal arousal at the thought of Derek bound and gagged in front of him. No matter how appealing the image was it was hardly the time for such thoughts. The sheriff had fully gone from dad-mode to law-enforcer-mode and he looked ready to race out to Derek’s apartment and arrest him at any second.

 

“Dad, please,” Stiles began warily, already exhausted with the conversation that hadn’t even begun. The sheriff watched him carefully like he was a hostile witness or something, keeping his face blank, but his posture imposing. But Stiles could see through the façade; the sheriff was fuming. Stiles swore he could actually see steam whistling out of his ears like an old cartoon character. (Maybe he could. He didn’t know how good his fox vision really was.) He really hadn’t meant to out his and Derek’s relationship, and now he wasn’t sure how to recover. He had been preparing for the fox conversation, not the “my boyfriend is an ex-murder suspect, whom I implicated, who happens to be illegally way older than me” conversation. How does one even prepare for that particular conversation? Who else would even HAVE to prepare for that particular conversation?

 

The sheriff sucked in a breath and slowly released it through his clenched teeth. The fox whined in his head, terrified of the sheriff’s obvious rage, but also heartbroken at having upset family.

 

“Stiles,” he began, voice held in practiced restraint that did more to show his true anger than if he had been yelling, “I have listened to a lot of ridiculous stories over the past 24 hours. And I have accepted that there are things happening in this town that I didn’t know about and that I am incapable of fixing or helping with. But I refuse to accept or allow my underage son to be used by some…adult criminal who thinks he can get away with it just because he saved your life.”

 

Stiles flushed with anger at the bitter disdain in his father’s words. He didn’t know Derek like he did. He would never know Derek like he did. Even if what they were doing wasn’t 100% legal, he had no right to call Derek a criminal. He was acquitted.

 

“That’s not true and you know it,” Stiles argued back, hands slamming down on the table. He was suddenly filled to the brim with vitriolic rage. A protective pulse fired through him setting his hair on end, electric currents sparking through his skin as he gripped tightly at the bond in his gut. No one talked about Derek like that, not with Stiles around.  When he spoke his voice was barely recognizable, the words charged with promise and the tone just on the wrong side of threatening. “He has done nothing but try to protect us, to protect this town, since we met him. Hell, he’s done more to protect this town than you ever could.  So don’t you dare treat him like some criminal. You don’t know anything about him.”

 

Regret immediately flooded Stiles’ lungs and throat, each becoming thick with worry as he watched his father’s shocked face fall. The sheriff gaped back at him, hurt and confusion etched across his weary, still bruised face. Stiles hadn’t even realized what he was saying until it was echoing back into his ears. The words stung at his heart nearly as badly as they must have stung his father’s. The anger and protectiveness that had spurred him on were replaced completely by shame. His eyes dropped to the table, unable to even watch the betrayal flashing across his father’s face.

 

“Dad, I didn’t mean…I’m sorry,” he whispered solemnly. He had tried so hard to protect his father from harm, and yet the scene before him displayed how terrifically he had failed. Not only was his father still beaten and bruised from hunters, now he was being emotionally stabbed in the back by his own asshole son. The sheriff’s eyes drifted down to the table between them, staring blankly at the wood grain, brow furrowed in thought.

 

“Dad, please? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t.” He started to reach forward, hoping to comfort his father in some way, but he pulled back at the last moment and twisted his hands together nervously. “I know you do more than anyone to protect this town. I barely see you most of the time because of how much you do.” The sheriff’s face seemed to crumple further at Stiles’ attempted compliment. Perhaps reminding the man of how little supervision Stiles had, which was part of the reason he and Derek had even met, was not the best way to cheer him up. “Come on, dad. You know I don’t hold that against you. It’s your job. It’s what you do. I’m still taken care of. You do everything you can when you’re home. And when you’re not, I have the pack. We all look out for each other.”

 

“Is this,” the sheriff started, eyes still glued to the table, reeking of frustration and discomfort, “is this some daddy-issue thing? Is that why you think you’re in love with a grown man? Is it because I’m not around enough? Is that the kind of father figure you think you need now?”

 

Stiles’ guilt was quickly overpowered by a tsunami wave of embarrassment, his face and ears burning to a bright almost glowing red. He sputtered and flapped his arms dramatically at his father’s words, which led to an incredulous coughing fit that took a few moments and a full glass of water to quell. The sheriff looked more expectant than worried by the time Stiles spoke.

 

“I am so disturbed that that is even a place your mind went to right now,” he finally choked out.

 

“How do you think I feel,” the sheriff spat back, eyes finally meeting Stiles’ again. “I mean honestly, Stiles. What the hell am I supposed to make of this? I’m at work all the time. You have no disciplinary figures in your life, at least none that you actually respect enough to listen to.” Another pang of guilt stabbed at Stiles’ heart. “You get into trouble every time my back is turned for more than a second and shirk any form of authority. And then you suddenly end up in some cult led by a murder suspect who I, personally, have arrested and all of a sudden it’s ‘Derek’s a great leader’, ‘he protects me’, ‘he does more for this town than you ever could’. How am I not supposed to see that as somehow my fault? As something you’re doing because of me?”

 

Stiles sat back in his chair, gaping across the table in disbelief. When it was laid out like that, he could understand his father’s conclusion. He wanted his father to understand, he wanted him to accept that Derek wasn’t just a cult leader who had brainwashed his son. In fact, Stiles seriously suspected he had somehow brainwashed Derek at some point. How else could he explain Derek being so relentlessly into him? His eyes trailed back up to his father’s fraught face.

 

“Honestly, dad, I’m pretty sure I pushed him into this…whatever it is we have. He tried to keep me at arms length and I listened about as well as I always do.” The slight twitch of his father’s lip lit a tiny spark of hope in him that the sheriff may one day be okay with everything. Stiles knew his dad was mainly looking out for him, not just being weird about Derek. And he did see where the sheriff was coming from. “You don’t have to worry. We haven’t really done anything illegal yet. And I’ll be eighteen soon enough, so we can wait.” The sheriff grimaced openly at the thought, but he let Stiles continue uninterrupted. Stiles was just glad the sheriff couldn’t pick up on his racing heart, because he and Derek had actually done quite a few illegal things. “But I do love him. Seriously, of sound mind and body and of my own free will.” He raised his hand in earnest as he spoke, hoping to pull another smile from his father’s miserable face. It almost worked. The sheriff looked up at him, a maelstrom of emotions warring in his eyes. Stiles understood what he was seeing. He understood how wrong he and Derek looked on paper. But he couldn’t stop the way he felt. He looked back at his father with sincerity and finally admitted what he had been avoiding all along.

 

“I need him. And even if he doesn’t look like it, he needs me too.”

 

The sheriff watched him for a long moment. The air in the kitchen went from charged to stale and back again at least a dozen times throughout the silence. Stiles was sure his father was working out how best to kill a werewolf and dispose of its body without getting caught, and he feared he might just be able to do it. But soon enough the sheriff seemed to deflate and he reached a hand out slowly to pat Stiles’ arm across the table.

 

“Okay, son. I’m not thrilled with this. I still think he’s too old and he’s been a terrible role model so far and I doubt that will change, and I know you’re more than likely going to end up very hurt over this, but I can see how much you care about him. You have always been fiercely protective of the ones you love and…Derek obviously falls into that category now. I won’t tell you not to see him because I know you wouldn’t listen, but I do ask that you…wait until you’re eighteen to move any further.” He finished with a grimace and a long-suffering sigh as if this wasn’t the weirdest of their many disciplinary conversations. “Please don’t make me regret this. I’m trying to accept that you’ve done a lot of growing up without me, but I’d still like to pretend that I matter in your life, even if it’s just for this one thing.”

 

Stiles jumped out of his chair and twisted around the table to throw himself onto his father’s lap. The sheriff caught him, but only just, as Stiles wrapped him into a bone-crushing hug.

 

“You will always be the most important person in my life,” he whispered into his father’s hair. He leaned into the sheriff’s touch as he hugged back firmly, protectively. “And your opinion will always matter, even if I don’t agree with it, or adhere to it.” Stiles felt his father’s shoulders shake with what he hoped was laughter. He breathed deep, taking in the deep musky scent of his dad: whiskey and metal, and something earthy and grounding, something that screamed home at him in a way Derek couldn’t compete with.

 

“Thank you, son.”

 

Stiles pulled back slowly, embarrassment gradually filling him as he realized he had thrown himself into his father’s lap like a child. So much for proving he was an adult capable of making his own choices. He stood up awkwardly, shifting his clothes back into a non-scrunched position as he faced down at his father. He considered ending the conversation there, letting his father breathe for a moment and digest everything he had learned in the past two days. But he was never one for patience and he had already planned out his “by the way, I’m a part-time werefox” conversation in his head. He just hoped his father wouldn’t take it too hard. He didn’t want him to end up back in the hospital from a heart attack after being released so recently.

 

“So, dad,” he started in his most innocent voice. The sheriff’s eyes grew skeptical as he glared up at his son, who was smiling far too wide to be sincere. “You know that whole, Lis is a werefox thing I mentioned earlier? Well, funny story…”

 

\---

 

 

Derek stood outside the Stilinski house frowning at the doorbell. He had been standing there for ten minutes trying to remind himself that he was an alpha werewolf and should not be afraid of one simple human sheriff. So far, he had not been successful.

 

He had gotten a text from Stiles an hour earlier asking him to come over to ‘discuss’ some things with his dad. Derek wasn’t sure what exactly the sheriff had in mind to discuss, but he knew of at least several topics that could very well end with him digging a bullet out of his stomach. He knew the sheriff was aware of the wolf situation, and that Derek was technically in charge, even though he still didn’t really know what he was doing most of the time. But he didn’t know how much the sheriff knew about he and Stiles.

 

Blood pounded in Derek’s ears as he reached out and finally pressed the worn button. The off-key chiming of the old doorbell vibrated through his chest, proving once and for all that this was actually happening and he couldn’t back out. He braced himself for whatever might be waiting on the other side of the door. If he was honest, he half expected the sheriff to open the door with a shotgun in his hands. The only thing that was able to calm him at all was the warm glow of comfort he felt tugging at him deep in his chest. Whatever the sheriff may have in store for him, at least he knew Stiles still wanted him.

 

“It’s unlocked,” the sheriff’s voice echoed through the solid wood. Derek wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was it a trap? Was he meant to just walk in? He wasn’t like the rest of the pack, he didn’t ‘hang’ out at the Stilinski house, or the McCall house for that matter. He showed up when he needed to, but he had never really been invited in before, least of all by the sheriff of his underage…boyfriend?

 

He raised a shaky hand and twisted the knob, heart hammering in his chest aggravatingly. With one last hopeful look at his Camaro and a final desperate desire to drive away and cower in his apartment across town, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

 

The front hallway was innocuous as always, no signs of traps or weapons. Derek counted that as a success.

 

“In the living room,” the sheriff called out nonchalantly. Derek’s nerves were on a razor’s edge. He knew the sheriff wouldn’t have called him here for a pleasant conversation, but his dismissive tone and blasé attitude were messing with Derek’s head. He crept forward cautiously, carefully stepping around the squeaky floorboard by the kitchen doorway. Wait, when had he logged that information away? Why did he even know there was a squeaky floorboard there? He shook himself from his thoughts and tiptoed to the living room at the back of the house. With a deep breath he rounded the corner to face the living room, and his jaw promptly fell open at the sight.

 

The sheriff was lounging against the couch, feet propped on the coffee table, with his eyes glued to what looked like _Van Helsing_ on the T.V. His right hand was wrapped around the neck of a frosty beer bottle, but his left hand was buried deep in the belly fur of the fox sprawled out next to him, wagging its tail happily. It looked up as Derek rounded the corner, tongue lolling out the side of its smiling mouth, and the tail started to wag in earnest, thumping against the armrest in short bursts. Four little black paws kicked at the air awkwardly as it shifted itself onto its side only to fall off the edge of the couch into a graceless heap on the floor.

 

“You have the finesse of a wounded buffalo,” the sheriff chuckled down at the fuzzy pile. The fox squinted up at him, ears laid back against its head in warning as it barked angrily. “Argue all you want, but that was not the cat-like agility you told me about.”

 

Derek’s eyes jumped between the sheriff and the fox who could only be Stiles chattering away at his feet. When had all this happened? How was the sheriff so at ease about it all? The fox, Stiles, suddenly bounced up onto the back of the couch just long enough to flick his tail into his father’s face before pouncing across the room into Derek’s unsuspecting arms. He tried not to wince as Stiles’ claws grabbed at his skin, but he knew it would make the fox happy to know it could take on the alpha, even if it was mainly pretend. He could feel Stiles purring happily against his chest as he ran his fingers through the dense fur around his neck. The slow flick of his tail tickled at Derek’s hip, but he ignored it, choosing instead to turn his head and give Stiles’ full access to his neck. Stiles’ pointed wet nose bumped against his sensitive skin, leaving cold damp patches of breath behind his ear. It felt good to be scented again, to have Stiles in his arms again. Just a few hours earlier he had been afraid that he would never have his Stiles back, ever. And now here he was, back in his furry little body, nuzzling into Derek’s chest, smelling so strongly of honeysuckle and home that Derek thought he might collapse from happiness.

 

The sudden wet slobber of a tongue lapping at his pulse startled him back into the moment.

 

The sheriff cleared his throat awkwardly from the couch.

 

“Alright, Stiles, give it a rest. Just because you’re an animal right now, don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

 

Stiles somehow managed to look embarrassed and contrite even as a fox, ears dropping low and his tail slowing to a stop. He ducked his head and buried his nose under Derek’s arm as if he was hiding from the situation, but Derek could feel the happiness practically bursting through their bond. Derek juggled his tiny body between his hands until he had a firm enough grip on him that he wouldn’t drop him accidentally. Although, knowing Stiles’ proclivity for wiggling around, the potential of dropping him was still very much a possibility.

 

“Come have a seat, Mr. Hale,” the sheriff offered almost too casually, his eyes tracking the situation carefully. Derek’s hands stilled from where they had been absently petting Stiles and he stiffened involuntarily. He could practically hear Stiles laugh at him as the fox nudged against his jaw with its nose. Stiles wiggled out from Derek’s frozen grip, bounced to the floor, and trotted back over to the couch where his father was still watching the two of them expectantly. The man motioned to the empty chair across from them as Stiles hopped back up into his lap. It was truly remarkable how calm he was about the whole situation. Derek could not wrap his head around it.

 

The sheriff watched him expectantly, nodding towards the chair again for emphasis. He stumbled forward and sat down anxiously, all too aware of the Stilinski men watching his every move. His hands itched as he placed them in his lap, trying to look as unassuming as possible, although he knew it was hardly going to help him. Stiles’ eyes lit with amusement at Derek’s obvious discomfort. He glared back at the boy/fox, but was startled to catch the sheriff’s knowing gaze in the process.

 

“So, as you can probably tell, Stiles has been telling me some things today,” the sheriff said, breaking the ice easily, though doing nothing to stem Derek’s nerves. The air still felt charged, even though everyone in the room was feigning calm.

 

Derek didn’t know how to respond. He was busy trying to remind himself that he needed to maintain eye contact, as human convention saw it as a sign of respect. But his wolf felt it was an assertion of dominance. Stiles’ eyes shined amber at him across the room, warning him to keep himself in check. Although the boy meant it as a courtesy, his wolf still cowered at the sight, whining softly in his head. He shrank back into the chair subconsciously and turned his head away, exposing his neck to Stiles in contrition. Derek’s eyes went wide with shock as Stiles continued to stare at him, his own shock reflected back in the fox’s furry face. Stiles had just reined his wolf in with just a look, like an alpha.

 

Derek hadn’t realized just how serious he had been when he claimed Stiles as his alpha, but apparently his wolf had meant it wholeheartedly.

 

“Hmm, that was interesting,” the sheriff commented, pulling the two from their impromptu staring match. “And a little reassuring, if I’m being honest.” Stiles looked up at him, head tilted to the side in confusion.

 

“It’s my job to observe, Stiles. Even if I’ve only just hit the tip of the iceberg with this supernatural stuff, I can still recognize a dismissal when I see one.” He turned to Derek then, face set with determination. “You said Stiles was your, uh, alpha, right? At the hospital?”

 

Derek nodded resolutely, having just confirmed the fact with himself and his wolf.

 

“Good. That means if he says no, to anything you might suggest, you’re going to listen without argument. Right?” The sheriff’s meaning was not lost on Derek. Apparently they had done more than talk about the fox. He could feel the blush creeping up his neck. He wasn’t embarrassed about Stiles, at all, but he still felt immensely guilty for corrupting a minor. He nodded again, slower, more self-conscious. “Excellent. And you will never try to force him to change his mind about any decision he comes to either. Correct?”

 

Derek groaned inwardly. The sheriff was just being a good father, but the implication still stung; the idea that Derek was some brute who couldn’t take no for an answer, or who would force his will on others hurt. (Okay, maybe he had forced the betas to do some things in the past, but that was pack business, not…this.) He wasn’t Kate. He would never force or trick Stiles into doing anything with him, no matter how much he might want to do…something. He sat forward in the chair, his voice finally coming back to him.

 

“Sir, I am not the kind of monster you think I am. Yes, I am a werewolf. But I am not a predator. I would never, and will never, force Stiles to do anything. He’s too stubborn to even try,” he added offhandedly with a fond smirk at the fox. The sheriff raised an eyebrow at him and Derek’s words rang back in his ears. Crap. He hadn’t meant it like that. He sputtered to cover his mistake. “Not that I _have_ ever tried to force him to do anything. Sir.” He hissed out a sigh and ran his hand across his face, another nervous gesture of Stiles’ he had picked up somewhere along the way. He swallowed down his embarrassment and continued. If the sheriff was willing to give him a chance to speak, he needed to get it all out.

 

“I’m not a normal person. My past has left me…broken in ways that have taken me years to even attempt to fix. I know personally how easy it is to get swept up in a relationship and overlook all the bad things someone does. I never wanted Stiles to get involved with me.” The fox whined pitifully from the couch. “Well, I wanted it for myself, but I didn’t want it for him. I know he can do better. I know he deserves better. And I’m starting to become better, because of him.” Stiles preened almost imperceptibly at Derek’s compliment. Derek’s eyes trailed from Stiles’ happy, fuzzy face, to the sheriff’s. The man looked a mixture of sad, regretful, and understanding.

 

“I tried to ignore my feelings for Stiles. I tried to keep him away because I know I’m poison and I know he doesn’t know any better. But I love him. And he has refused to leave my side and I cannot bring myself to push any longer.” Stiles bounded off of the couch and hurled himself into Derek’s waiting arms. He writhed against him happily, licking every inch of skin he could find, his tail wagging so ferociously Derek was sure he would have brush burn from it. Derek laid his open palm between Stiles’ ears and scratched lightly, effectively calming the boy’s frantic show of affection. Stiles dropped onto his belly and curled himself into a ball as he leaned into the gentle touch. Derek’s eyes met the sheriff’s once more as Stiles purred contentedly. “I can’t force Stiles to do anything he doesn’t want to. Even if it’s in his best interest. But I understand that there are laws and you are the sheriff. And I will accept any punishment I may have coming my way.” Derek felt Stiles’ head turn to his father from under his hand. He could only assume how pitiful a look the boy was giving the man by the reaction on the sheriff’s face. He looked heartbroken and resigned, but hopefully optimistic at the same time.

 

“I appreciate you owning up to the fact that what you’re doing is wrong,” the sheriff applauded. Stiles clicked at him angrily, but the sheriff simply held up a hand in defense. “Fine, what you are currently doing is not technically illegal, but it could very well become illegal without much effort. There are laws in place to protect minors from being used and mislead by unsavory adults.”

 

Derek pretended to not be offended by the comment, but he could see the sheriff’s point.

 

“I am aware of those laws, sir. As I said, I will take any punishment you deem worthy.” He almost regretted his words. If the sheriff was as much like Stiles as he thought, he could surely come up with some truly despicable punishments. And it would be deserved. Even if Stiles hadn’t told his father everything they had done, Derek knew that he had had sex with a minor. Multiple times. He deserved some form of punishment. He deserved the worst punishment the sheriff could throw at him.

 

The sheriff seemed to consider him for a moment before nodding to himself and standing. He sauntered over to the pair of them and looked down at Stiles’ happy face with a grimace.

 

“I’m not sure what all you two have done, and part of me really doesn’t want to know, but I know my son and how eager he is, so I assume you have broken at least part of the statutory laws.” Derek tried to keep his face blank, but Stiles cowered under his father’s gaze and gave everything away. “Therefore, Stiles, you will be grounded for the next month. You will leave this house for school and practice, that’s it. I will have deputies pass by every hour to check up on you when I’m at work.” Stiles grumbled against Derek’s leg, clearly annoyed about the babysitting, but also thankful that his punishment wasn’t more severe. At least he thought it wasn’t.

 

“Now, Derek.” The wolf’s eyes flicked up to the sheriff’s stern face. “You will not speak to, see, or contact Stiles in any way for the next four weeks.”

 

Stiles jumped up, barking and hissing indignantly at his father as Derek sat completely still and accepted his fate.

 

It could have been worse. It really could have. Somehow. Somehow his punishment could have been worse than separating him from his mate for an entire month, separating him from the one thing in his life that had ever gone right, the one person who had ever forced him to see the man he could become and actually wanted to become, just to see the look of pride on his face. There were worse punishments.

Maybe cutting his arms off? That might have been worse. Though he doubted it.

 

He nodded solemnly as Stiles continued to chirp and bark, bouncing around his father’s feet like a hyped up Chihuahua. The sheriff ignored Stiles’ anger and kept his eyes locked on Derek’s.

 

“I think I’ll be calling you in to the station when I get back and we can discuss some plans to keep the supernatural side of Beacon Hills from destroying the civilian parts. But for now, I think it’s about time for you to go.” The sheriff didn’t seem entirely angry, but his voice was firm. Derek stood and extended a hand toward the sheriff.

 

“Thank you for listening. I am sorry that I have disappointed you and for keeping things from you. But I will not apologize for loving your son.”

 

The sheriff’s eyes went wide, shock coloring his face. Derek would accept the sheriff’s punishment and he would follow it to the letter of the law, but that didn’t mean he would ever stop caring for Stiles. He gripped Derek’s hand firmly and nodded once as he motioned towards the door. Derek turned and trudged towards the front of the house.

 

As noble as he was pretending to be, inside he was falling apart with every step. He knew he would survive. He knew he could last, but he didn’t want to think about how hellish the next month would be. Stiles had just come back to him and he was about to lose him all over again. A month was a long time without contact. It only took two weeks to create a routine. Stiles was going to have twice that amount of time to get used to not having Derek around. What if he decided he didn’t want Derek after all? What if he realized that it was all a big mistake, some random hormonal affair that he really didn’t need? What if he decided Derek’s baggage wasn’t worth it?

 

He reached for the door handle slowly and turned back for one last glance. He didn’t even have any pictures of Stiles to keep him company for the next four weeks. Maybe he could get Scott to give him some. That wouldn’t count as contact, right? His eyes drifted down the hallway, memorizing the image of the sheriff standing there, arms crossed with a serious expression, and the small fox whimpering next to his feet. Derek pulled the door open, as reluctant now to leave as he had been to come in a few minutes earlier. He could hear the skittering of claws running up the wooden floor as he stepped outside, accompanied by the sheriff’s warning shout of ‘Stiles!’ It killed him to do it, but he rushed out the door and pulled it shut before the fox could follow him. He had made his bed, and now he had to wallow in it.

 

He jumped into the Camaro and peeled off down the street, trying his hardest, and failing miserably, to ignore the mournful wails of the fox still trapped behind the door. The sound of claws scratching frantically at the wood would definitely haunt him for the next four weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise everything will turn out okay. But let's be real here, as chill as the sheriff is, he would be SUPER protective of his son. Especially about this. He'll warm up to Derek eventually, but you had to know the initial reaction would not be good. 
> 
> Next chapter will most likely be the last. (Unless I have some crazy breakthrough that I just HAVE to add.) It'll resolve this chapter and be fluffy and stupid and seriously smutty because we have been missing that lately. Thank you all for reading and supporting this bizarre world I've spun off into. It has been a wild ride and it has definitely been a great experience. You're all fantastic and I appreciate everything. I should have the last chapter up around Thanksgiving (U.S.A.). See you all soon!!


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this took a while again and I'm sorry, but it's concert season and I am crazy busy. It's also been really hard to try to end something like this. I mean, I've been writing this for over a year! So much has happened since this began, and my life has taken so many turns and changed so much and it's just hard to wrap my head around. It's a lot harder to let it go than I thought. And nothing I could think of seemed appropriate as an ending. Anyway, this is the end, my friends. It's been a crazy ride and I have loved it the whole time. Your encouragement and dedication has been amazing and I don't think this fic ever would have become what it is today without you all. Thank you all again, you've been amazing!

Stiles’ grounding turned out to be more painful than the sheriff could have ever imagined. Stiles moped around the house for the entire first week, barely even looking at his father let alone saying anything to him. His friends tried to cheer him up with impromptu visits, but none of them were able to pull him out of his depression. Every time one of the teenagers showed up, Stiles would sniffle miserably and make face before turning away and trying to hide the way his eyes started to blur with tears. Whenever the sheriff got home from work, Stiles would immediately lock himself in his room and blast depressing music until the noise ordinance kicked in. Even in the mornings when the sheriff had the rare chance to sleep in, Stiles would wake up early just to blare more miserable music. Although it was slowly driving the sheriff mad, he still wondered how Stiles was able to deal with it; Stiles didn’t even like ‘scream-o’.

 

The sheriff thought he would at least be safe from Stiles’ wrath at work, but his ever-crafty son just found more creative ways to show his displeasure. He started by replacing all the coffee in the house with decaf, which took the sheriff three days of wandering into the station like a zombie to realize. Next he had five pizzas delivered to the station from the sheriff’s favorite pizzeria, which the sheriff had thought was a peace offering. That is until he realized the deliveryman, and his deputies somehow, had received strict orders not to let him have any, which they actually honored for some even more baffling reason. By the weekend, he had gotten a dozen email notices from their cable company billing him for the movies Stiles had been renting which were less than subtle (most notably _The Jerk, Dick,_ and the crowning gem _Getting Even With Dad_ ).

 

By the third week Stiles had moved on from pranks and getting even, which in some way was progress. However, his decent into existential despair was even more heart breaking for the sheriff to deal with. Stiles no longer locked himself in his room whenever the sheriff was home. Instead he sat in the kitchen at all hours staring at the necklace with a lost and hopeless look on his face. His once voracious appetite disappeared overnight. In fact the sheriff hadn’t seen him eat anything for days. Stiles didn’t even seem like his son anymore. It was like he had completely shut himself down.

 

And it terrified him.

 

Stiles never saw how different his mother had become towards the end, because the sheriff hadn’t let him. But the broken look in his son’s eyes and the way everything about him seemed wrong and volatile was horrifyingly familiar.

 

Eventually, sometime during the third week, the sheriff sat him down to have a talk. Stiles slumped into a chair at the table and stared at the floor, arms hung loosely at his sides. He had been wearing the same pajamas for three days straight, and was starting to smell as terrible as he looked.

 

“You know I’m not doing this to punish you, right,” the sheriff asked, truly concerned for the first time that Stiles thought he was being punished for falling in love.

 

Stiles didn’t respond. He didn’t even flinch. His vacant eyes stayed fixed on the floor.

 

“Stiles,” the sheriff called out exasperatedly, “I want you to be able to love whoever you choose to love. But I want you to think about it carefully first. I wanted to give you two some space to see if this was what you really wanted. It’s easy to get wrapped up in someone when you see them all the time and go through…multiple life changing events with them. I just want you to be able to think about who you are and what you really want without distraction. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

The last part felt incredibly hypocritical. Stiles was already hurt. He had been watching the pain in his son’s face for the last three weeks. Stiles still didn’t move, didn’t answer, didn’t even look like he had heard his father speaking. His eyes were glazed over, his hand still clutching the necklace he had refused to let go of for the last month.

 

He looked broken. He looked like his mother.

 

“Son,” the sheriff whispered. It was barely audible. A broken syllable from a voice heavy with pain. “Please, look at me. I know you’re mad, but please don’t cut me out like this. I can’t go through this again.”

 

Stiles finally looked up, his mother’s honey brown eyes brimmed with unshed tears staring back at the sheriff. The sheriff let out a broken sob of relief at the recognition in his gaze. All thoughts of his son going through the same heartbreaking deterioration as his wife swept away in an instant.

 

“Stiles, I love you. You know that, right?” The boy didn’t respond, didn’t move, but his eyes stayed locked onto the sheriff’s. “I just want what’s best for you. I want you to be happy and safe. And I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you. But I can’t watch you like this anymore. Stiles, it’s going to kill me.” The sheriff broke just the tears began to spill from Stiles’ eyes. The boy still hadn’t moved, too lost in his own emotions and misery to will his arms and legs to do anything. But he was watching his father with a horribly broken and pleading expression.

 

“One more week,” the sheriff begged, “Please, just give me one more week of being my son before I lose you to him.” His voice died off as he finished and his face dropped miserably into his hands.

 

Stiles’ chair squeaked against the floor as he stood to round the table. He hovered over his father for a moment before gripping his shoulder firmly.

 

“You’re not gonna lose me, dad. We’re family. Stilinski’s ‘til the day we die,” his father snorted at the absurdity of the comment. Stiles’ voice held firm as he continued, much stronger than either of them had expected. “Derek may be older than me, and that may cause some problems, but I’ve known for a long time that he’s what I want. Sure, he’s a pain in the ass, but so am I.”

 

The sheriff actually laughed at that. He stood up abruptly and wrapped Stiles in a crushing hug.

 

“If he ever does anything to hurt you, anything at all, you tell me right away. I know you can handle yourself, you’ve made that abundantly clear,” Stile cringed at the slight jab, “but I want to have your back from here on out. I will always have your back. You will always be my son.” Stiles pressed into the hug, nodding along with his father’s words, no longer trusting his voice to answer.

 

They stood there for a long moment, wrapped in each other, lost in their own memories of family and love and need. Eventually they separated, slowly, each trying to mask the obvious tear tracks running down their faces.

 

“One more week, deal,” the sheriff asked. Stiles nodded his agreement, a faint smile on his face. The sheriff nodded back, pulling his shirt back down from where it had rucked up. “Good. Now go call your boyfriend and tell him he’s expected at dinner on Friday. You have one hour then it’s back to communication blackout.”

 

Stiles bounced with excitement as he threw himself at his father and hugged him as hard as he could before running up to his room with a brief ‘Thanks, dad,’ thrown over his shoulder.

 

\--

 

The last week of the grounding was better. Stiles seemed more like himself than he had all month. He started eating again, almost overcompensating for his lack of appetite the weeks prior. The Stilinski men fell into a habit of ordering take out or cooking their favorite recipes every night as they made their way through all the terrible movies Stiles had gotten on demand. By the end of the week they had started to feel like a family again, and the sheriff couldn’t have been happier.

 

But all too soon, it was Friday.

 

“So, when exactly is Derek supposed to be here,” Stiles asked as he prepared his dad’s coffee before school. The sheriff had completely forgotten that he had invited Derek over that evening.

 

“Ah crap, I forgot. Let’s say seven.”

 

Stiles stilled his hands and turned to glare at his father.

 

“You forgot? You’ve kept me locked up in this house for a month just to keep me away from Derek and you FORGOT that you invited him for dinner?!”

 

The sheriff at least had the decency to look apologetic.

 

“It’s been a busy week, so sue me. It’s fine. I remember now. I’ll stop at the store on the way home, it’s fine.” Stiles continued to glare, although the sternness had shifted closer to incredulity.

 

“Um, no. How about I stop and get stuff,” Stiles countered, “Since I’m cooking. Since he’s MY boyfriend.” The sheriff tried not to bristle at the reminder.

 

“Fine. I’ll leave you $50, don’t go overboard. I’ve got to get to work though, so I’ll see you tonight.”

 

Stiles pounced on the money as his father pulled out his wallet. A moment later he was skipping out the door, $50 in hand, and running to his Jeep.

 

“Thanks, dad!”

 

The sheriff barely had time to register what had happened before Stiles was driving off to school.

 

“This was a terrible idea,” he mumbled as he grabbed his coffee and headed to work.

 

\--

 

Stiles was still slaving over the stove, trying to figure out how much longer the baked mac and cheese had to go while also trying to marinate steaks in whatever he could find, when the doorbell rang.

 

His heart jumped into his throat at the sound. A quick glance at the clock told him it was already 7:00. He had completely lost track of time and hadn’t even realized that his father should have been home an hour earlier. A quick wave a panic washed through him as the possibilities of what might have happened to his dad flashed through his subconscious.

 

Then the doorbell rang again and Stiles’ heart began to race for a completely different reason.

 

All thoughts of his father were abandoned while he launched himself from the kitchen. The steaks fell to the counter as he sprinted to the front door, heart racing, and nerves fizzing. The smells of the kitchen had masked it before, but there in the hallway he finally noticed the scent. And it was the most delightful scent he’d ever smelled.

Smoke and pine.

 

Derek.

 

He was there. Finally.

 

Without even a single thought or concern, Stiles flung the door open and threw himself at the man standing on his porch. Derek caught him without even thinking and his face split into a wide grin. Their scents mingled together, wrapping them in a cloud of happiness and comfort.

 

Stiles felt his fox chattering and hopping in delight at the feel of his mate’s arms around him and the scent of him filling his nose. He could practically feel Derek purring with contentment against him, his skin buzzing with the excitement.

 

They stood there on the porch, clinging to each other like drowning men to a life raft, pulling each other closer and closer until it hurt. Stiles felt Derek’s face drop to his shoulder and he twitched as the alpha’s warm breath brushed across his skin sending a shiver down his spine. Derek inhaled deeply before clamping his teeth onto the soft expanse of skin, pulling a startled gasp from Stiles’ lips.

 

Derek released him immediately, control coming back to him, if a little late. It was obvious from the look on his face that he hadn’t meant to do that. But he hadn’t seen Stiles in weeks and they both needed to know that they were still…together. Suddenly Stiles’ hand was at the back of Derek’s head pushing his face back against his neck.

 

“Don’t you fucking dare stop. You claim me right goddamn now,” he ordered, voice dropping lower with every word. Derek didn’t need to be told twice. His teeth punched through the skin, sucking at the blood they drew, and lapping at the wound until it healed. Stiles hissed in contentment above him, hands clutching at Derek’s hair.

 

Stiles yanked back on his hair, ripping Derek’s face away from his throat and sank his own teeth into Derek’s shoulder. He bit down hard, frantically, hands gripping at Derek like he might suddenly vanish at any moment. Derek growled against him, the deep rumble vibrating through his chest. Stiles shivered against him as he sucked softly at the bite.

 

“Stiles,” Derek whispered reverently, “I missed you so much. But we should probably go inside.” Stiles straightened at that, eyes wide and anxious, as if he had forgotten they were standing in the middle of his front porch. Actually, he had forgotten that they were standing on his porch, where all of his neighbors could see. But they didn’t deserve to see. He gave Derek a quick once over and felt his knees start to buckle. The alpha was wearing his nicest, tightest dark jeans with a pressed white dress shirt and sleek black vest. His neighbors definitely didn’t deserve to see that. He grabbed Derek’s hand and dragged him inside in an instant, slamming the door behind them.

 

Before Derek even had a chance to say hello, Stiles had him pinned back against the door, his mouth clashing over the alpha’s, licking at his lips, biting at his tongue, breath coming in barely there pants of desperation. Derek knew they should slow down, but his wolf was howling with need. His mate had claimed him once more and now, now he just _needed_ to taste.

 

Stiles stopped for a moment to catch his breath only to have Derek lunge forward, backing him up against the wall and hiking his legs around his waist. Derek’s lips crashed back into Stiles’, kissing viciously, hungrily as his hips ground forward of their own accord. Stiles whined into his mouth hands roving across his body, over and under his shirt, only to slide back up to grip his face and angle it to better deepen their kiss. His legs clenched around Derek’s hips, dragging him closer until he could feel the heat burning into him from the alpha’s dick where it pressed against his hip. His head fell back for a moment, lungs screaming for air as he panted out a frantic stuttered breath. Sparks ricocheted through his body setting every nerve alive as Derek’s scorching mouth returned to his neck.

 

He had really expected to have better control than this, but it had been a month. He was a growing boy after all. He had needs. Plus he had the pull of his fox begging him to mount Derek as soon as possible, which he was trying to smother as much as could. Honestly he was handling it all pretty well under the circumstances. At least he could take comfort in the fact that the alpha wasn’t really handling it any better. He could feel the slickness of Derek’s dick seeping through his jeans. If there was a stain, it was definitely going to make dinner with his father a little more awkward.

 

_Bad boys, bad boys…whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when they come for you? …_ Stiles’ phone screeched from the kitchen. It was his father’s ringtone.

 

He had thought it was really clever at the time, but at the moment it seemed like a cold bucket of water reminding him of exactly what was at stake in his relationship with Derek.

 

“Fuck,” he hissed out, letting his legs fall to the floor shakily. “I have to answer that. It’s my dad.” Derek grunted his agreement, but refused to let go of his neck, tongue still working feverishly at the spot he had claimed. Stiles laughed at his stubbornness. “Derek, I _have_ to answer that. He’ll literally kill both of us if I don’t.”

 

That seemed to get the alpha’s attention enough for him to lift his head. Stiles pushed his face away playfully and started towards the kitchen, only to be pulled back against Derek’s chest so the wolf could hook his chin over his shoulder and waddle behind him.

 

“You’re being a little ridiculous,” Stiles chastised, though he couldn’t keep his raw affection from coloring his tone. It was nice to know he wasn’t alone in his very primal need to be touched and held.

 

They stumbled into the kitchen just as the ringer clicked off. Stiles dove for the phone anyway, accidentally tripping Derek, who in turn dragged Stiles down as he lost his balance and crashed to the floor. Stiles’ phone lay forgotten as they fell into an awkward tangle of limbs on the linoleum. Before Stiles could even blame Derek for their situation, a noise he had never heard before escaped the man’s lips. He sat there in awe, staring at Derek, whose eyes were widened in surprise.

 

“Did you just _giggle_ ,” Stiles crowed delightedly. Derek’s face quickly turned a distracting shade of red as Stiles continued to stare, a wide almost manic grin stretching his lips. “Oh my god, you fucking giggled! This is the best day of my life.”

 

Derek pushed at Stiles’ shoulder, trying to casually separate himself from the human knot they had become as Stiles dissolved into hysterical laughter. His blush spread even further. Stiles could practically feel the embarrassment radiating from Derek’s skin. He grabbed Derek’s arm and yanked him forward, stopping him just in time to mash their lips together again. Derek stilled beside him, surprised by the sudden change, but quickly softened into the kiss.

 

“You’re such a dork,” Stiles’ whispered against the man’s mouth, ignoring the tickle of his beard.

 

“Takes one to know one,” Derek retorted. Stiles fell backwards in a new fit of laughter.

 

“Oh my god, you did not just pull that elementary school crap,” Stiles cackled. “How old are you? I thought I was supposed to be the child in this relationship.”

 

Derek pulled back again, frowning at Stiles’ insensitive quip. It took Stiles a moment to realize that Derek wasn’t laughing with him.

 

“Oh,” he said, suddenly such more sober. “Right. Probably not the best comment to make considering...” Stiles’ eyes drifted to the floor as embarrassment and guilt bubbled to the surface of his skin. Derek rolled his eyes as he finally extracted himself from the boy’s limbs and rose to his feet. He held a hand down to help Stiles up, although the boy was reluctant at first to grab it.

 

“Stiles,” he sighed, “I’m not mad. It’s not a big deal. Just kind of a rude reminder about what this is.” Stiles glanced up from under his eyelashes. In any other situation the look would have been enticing. But at that moment, it looked pitiful. He breathed out a sigh and grasped Stiles’ hand, pulling him up in one quick movement. “Come on, you have to call your dad back or he’s going to think we ran off together or something.”

 

“Ha, not likely with the roving patrol cars that have passed the house every twenty minutes, all day long.” Derek raised an eyebrow in question, but Stiles simply shrugged him off. “What can I say? He’s become very protective of me.”

 

“He’s always been protective of you,” Derek mumbled, shifting his eyes away from Stiles. If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d have thought Derek was jealous. He shifted around to catch Derek’s gaze.

 

“You know this isn’t a challenge, right,” he asked earnestly. Derek’s avoidant gaze answered the question for him. Stiles huffed out an incredulous laugh. “Dude, he’s my dad. He’s always going to worry about me and look out for me. That doesn’t mean he’s trying to do your job. Although, honestly I’m a little insulted that you think it’s your job to look out for me. I’m a grown ass man, well almost, and I can look out for myself thank you.”

 

Derek looked back at him with a mixture of pride and affection, with just a touch of annoyance for good measure.

 

“I know you can handle yourself. But I like to at least pretend I’m useful to you,” Derek admitted quietly.

 

Stiles’ grin turned wicked for a moment as he passed a lecherous look over Derek’s body. What could he say, the outfit was really working for him.

 

“Oh, I can think of many ways you can be useful to me.” Derek tried to hide the blush that was pinking up his cheeks again, but Stiles was far too observant to miss it.

 

“Call your dad back, you rake,” Derek ordered as he grabbed Stiles’ phone off the table and tossed it at the boy’s chest. Stiles chuckled at Derek’s embarrassed shuffle.

 

“Rake? Jesus, how old are you? Who even talks like that?”

 

Derek glared back at him and crossed his arms expectantly, raising one eyebrow pointedly at the phone.

 

“Fine. Jesus. You really are the biggest sour wolf in the world,” he grumbled as he hit the speed dial for his dad. Derek shrugged back at him.

 

“Yeah, but I’m your sour wolf,” he cooed saccharinely. Stiles practically choked on air as his father’s voice crackled to life on his phone’s speaker.

 

_“Hey kid,”_ the sheriff’s voice crackled. _“Sorry, but I’m gonna be a little late. Well, obviously. I just lost track of time. I’ve got a bit of paperwork to finish, so I’ll be about another hour. That okay?”_

 

Stiles jaw dropped open as a glimmer of sinister joy flashed through his eyes. Derek tried to hide his own enthusiasm. It wasn’t fair that the sheriff had to work, but him being late meant more time alone.

 

“Yeah, that’s cool,” Stiles stuttered back, eyes locking onto Derek’s. He couldn’t even begin to hide the grin taking over his face.

 

_“Derek’s probably going to get there before me, so go ahead and eat whenever he gets there. Just save dessert until I get home,”_ he warned.

“Right,” Stiles agreed absently, mind still stuck on the fact that he and Derek were going to be unsupervised for an hour.

 

_“Stiles,”_ the sheriff warned good-naturedly.

 

“Huh,” Stiles answered belatedly.

 

_“Behave yourself, kid. I’ll be home soon.”_

 

“You got it, pops. I’ll see you in a bit. I’ll keep your dinner warm,” he added a little too eagerly.

 

_“Sure thing, son.”_

 

Derek was on him before he had fully clicked his phone off, hands roaming his body, mouth attacking any bit of exposed skin it could find. Stiles groaned against him, dropping his phone on the counter and wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck.

 

Derek pulled back suddenly, sniffing at the air with a puzzled look.

 

“What are you even cooking,” he asked seriously. Stiles let his hands fall to his side, mouth agape as he stared at Derek in disbelief.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me,” he asked incredulously, arms flailing in annoyance. “We just find out that we have the house to ourselves for an hour and you’re worried about what’s cooking?”

 

Derek frowned back at him exasperatedly.

 

“Stiles,” he began condescendingly, “If we start doing anything, which I highly suspect we will, there is a good chance we won’t notice when dinner catches fire from negligence. So yes, I’m asking what you’re cooking.” Stiles deflated immediately. That was actually a decent and honest concern.

 

“Plus it smells weird,” he added quickly. Stiles slapped at his shoulder mock angrily as he turned the oven off and covered the marinating steaks. 

 

“I’ve been in a comfort food rut this past week and I couldn’t get out of it,” he explained. “So I was making you my mom’s mac ‘n cheese. It was my favorite food when I was little,” Stiles admitted quietly. He could almost see Derek’s heart break on his behalf. Derek knew what it meant to share a part of his lost past with someone. It was a sign of trust and respect, and mostly love. He watched Stiles closely as he finished clearing the food away.

 

Stiles felt the alpha’s eyes on his back, and even without looking could feel the adoration he felt for him flowing freely through their bond. It was almost too much. After a month of misery, such intense love directed at him, in him, was hard to handle.

 

“Oh, and I added steaks because I know you like meat,” he added with a wink, effectively breaking up the emotional tidal wave. Derek snorted behind him.

 

“You’re such an ass,” Derek grumbled affectionately. Stiles wiggled his hips at him and tossed a sultry look over his shoulder.

 

“Yes, but I’m your ass,” he cooed, mocking Derek’s earlier comment. He turned with a flourish and announced that the food was saved for the moment. The he let his eyes dance over Derek’s muscular form, his lips turning up in a smirk. “You know, we’ve got a whole house to ourselves right now.”

 

Derek shifted nervously where he stood, eyes tracking Stiles’ expression like a hawk.

 

“Your dad’s going to be home in a little while. Maybe we should just finish dinner,” he suggested begrudgingly.

 

He was trying to be good. Stiles could tell that. But Stiles didn’t want good right now. He wanted Derek.

 

“He is coming home in a little bit. So we should take advantage of this time while we can,” he countered with another meaningful look over Derek’s body. “And I have a great idea about how to pass that time.”

 

Stiles sank to his knees, lips pulled wide in a lewd grin as his nimble fingers played with the zipper of Derek’s pants.

 

“Stiles, you’re dad’s coming home soon,” Derek hissed out through clenched teeth. “We should…we should finish dinner before he gets here.” Stiles’ eyes flicked up, glinting devilishly in the fluorescent lights of the kitchen. Derek’s pupils were already blown wide, desire and need written across his features. Stiles knew he could sway him. He was trying so hard to be a gentleman, to be the man Stiles’ father expected him to be. But no man can refuse Stiles when he sets his mind to something.

 

Stiles grabbed Derek’s zipper between his teeth and sank further down onto the floor, letting his legs spread wide as Derek’s pants fell open. He could smell the need and arousal concentrated there and his fox chirped with excitement. The alpha’s eyes blazed red as he watched, a thin ring of ruby around wide pupils, his hands clutching at the countertop behind him as Stiles peeled his jeans down to his thighs with a grin.

 

Before Derek could even say a word, Stiles was mouthing at his erection through his underwear, licking and sucking at the swollen flesh until the fabric was drenched through. He could taste him even through the cloth, heady and salty, and his. Desire burned through him as he nosed at the sticky fabric, breathing in the intense concentrated scent of Derek.

 

“Stiles, please,” the man whined above, fingers digging into the counter. The boy leaned back long enough to flash a wicked grin in Derek’s direction and yank the elastic of his underwear over his dick and down until it was positioned firmly behind his balls. Derek gasped at the sudden cool air on his hot skin, but his eyes only seemed to get wider in anticipation. The arrangement of fabric made his dick stand out prominently before Stiles, like an offering.

 

“Perfect,” Stiles hummed as he sat up on his knees and sank his mouth around Derek’s cock without warning. Derek fought the urge to thrust up into the searing warmth of Stiles’ mouth as the boy massaged the underside of his dick with his tongue. Stiles closed his eyes and took in a deep breath through his nose, tickling Derek’s overly sensitive skin in the process. The alpha squirmed from the gentle caress of the air and released the counter to slowly wind his hands into Stiles’ thick hair.

 

Suddenly Stiles’ eyes burst open, bright amber light shining through his irises as he looked up at Derek hungrily. He felt the wolf inside of Derek, howling for attention, rubbing itself against his chest, aching for its mate. He could feel the pull of their bond deep in his chest, begging for more, crying out for release. But he ignored it, favoring instead to sink slowly over Derek’s dick, pulling him in inch by inch in an agonizingly slow swallow. Derek’s head fell backwards as profanities slipped through his lips.

 

Stiles’ throat contracted around the head as he bottomed out, coughing in spite of himself around the massive intrusion. Derek mewled above him as he pulled back quickly, letting the drool slip from his mouth without concern. He smiled up at Derek, who looked like he was ready to melt into the floor, legs shaking and a thin sheen of sweat breaking out across his face. The man ran a gentle hand along Stiles’ jaw, thumb softly massaging the side of his swelling lips. Stiles sucked the thumb into his mouth, wrapping his tongue around it and pulling back with a loud pop. He didn’t miss the twitch of interest Derek’s dick gave at the sound.

 

“You’re gonna kill me,” Derek whined above him. Stiles smirked at him as he took the head back into his mouth, reveling in the feeling of absolute control he had over the alpha. He could do anything to him and he would go along willingly. He couldn’t fight the smile that came over him as he thought of tying Derek down and pulling orgasm after orgasm out of him, without ever letting him do anything to relieve himself.

 

“Ahh, teeth,” Derek hissed in warning. Stiles pulled back apologetically, tongue gently lapping at the irritated skin where his teeth had dug in a little too hard.

 

“Sorry man, lesson learned: no smiling while giving head,” Stiles assured him. He put his hand in front of his face and licked slow wet stripes across it before he wrapped his long fingers around Derek’s dick and jacked him slowly. “This is probably safer for right now.”

 

Derek hummed his agreement as his hips kicked up involuntarily into Stiles’ firm grip.

 

“Eager, aren’t we? Especially considering you were so worried just a minute ago,” Stiles teased. Derek didn’t seem capable of answering. His bottom lip was firmly between his teeth and Stiles swore he could see Derek’s fangs piercing into the skin. Stiles ducked his head forward again, wiggling his hips to shake out some of the tension in his legs, and licked at the head experimentally. He let the flavor of precome sit on his tongue for a moment as he tried to sort through the tastes. There was the obvious bitter saltiness, and the odd viscosity that made it so much different than anything he’d had in his mouth prior, but there was a flavor underneath, something that screamed _Derek_ that he couldn’t place.

 

He switched hands after a while, his arm tiring quickly from the odd angle. Derek slammed his hands against the counter top, and his eyes flew open to glare down at Stiles disbelievingly.

 

“How the hell are you this good with both hands? Are you ambidextrous,” he raged almost incoherently through his heavy panting.

 

“You’re lucky I know to take that tone as a compliment, otherwise you would be leaving here with the most severe case of blue-balls known to man. Or…werewolf-kind,” Stiles warned. “And no, if you must know, I am not ambidextrous. Except in this one very specific area,” he added with a wink. “I broke bones a lot as a kid, had to learn to cope. I’d say I was successful, wouldn’t you?” He twisted his wrist and pulled, pressing into the flesh firmly as he finished the question and pulling a moan from Derek’s throat. The alpha was left whining above him and nodding vigorously. 

 

“Also lucky for you, since I can use both hands equally well, that means I can do multiple things at once,” Stiles quipped nonchalantly. Derek frowned in confusion, mind not able to break through its lust filled haze to figure out the words. But then Stiles’ other hand was kneading at his balls, gently rolling them between deft fingers as he continued to jerk his cock.

 

Derek dissolved into wanton moans as Stiles wrapped his lips back around the head, tonging gently at the slit as he sucked in deeply, hollowing out his cheeks. One of Stiles’ fingers slipped away from his balls and slowly crept back to massage the tight ring of muscle hidden behind them. It fluttered against the pressure, his abs tightening from the sensation, pulling his sac up even tighter.

 

Stiles released him for a moment, just long enough to suck his own finger into his mouth, covering it with saliva, before returning to Derek’s balls. The slickened finger found its way back to Derek’s hole, prodding softly, asking for entrance. The muscle pulled the finger in much quicker than either of them were expecting. Derek blushed from his obvious eagerness, but Stiles’ mouth watered from the neediness of his mate. He wiggled the finger in further swallowing around the precome practically shooting from Derek’s dick. The man keened as Stiles managed to push in up to his third knuckle. He crooked his finger, getting used to the warm, dense feeling of being inside Derek, but Derek practically yelped in surprise. Stiles felt the sparks of pleasure shooting through his body.

 

He knew that he was beyond turned on, but the pleasure he felt wasn’t coming from his own body. It was coming from Derek. His mate was in such ecstasy it was bleeding through their bond into Stiles’ body. He was starting to understand the whole mate thing. The connection ran so much deeper than just boyfriends.

 

Stiles felt his fox purring with delight at the realization. Derek was sweating and trembling above him, nerves at the breaking point, orgasm clearly a mere breath away. He let go of Derek’s dick completely and sat back, focusing entirely on the finger that was buried inside of his mate.

 

He slowly began thrusting his finger in and out, twisting gently and curling it against that one swollen point that caused Derek to cry out every time he grazed it. He could feel Derek’s balls tightening in his hand, climbing towards release. The alpha’s dick twitched eagerly before him, practically begging for Stiles’ mouth.

 

Who was he to refuse?

 

Stiles wrapped his free hand around Derek’s exposed hip, fingertips digging into the skin hard enough to get his attention.

 

“I’m gonna let you take control, okay,” he asked nervously. He trusted Derek, it wasn’t that he didn’t, but he also knew he was a novice at this stuff, and he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t end up throwing up all over Derek’s dick if he pushed too far. No matter how much you like someone that would have to be a deal breaker. Derek nodded shakily down at him, his ass clenching around Stiles still-thrusting finger.

 

Stiles licked a long stripe up the underside of Derek’s dick before swallowing the head into his mouth. He made sure his lips covered his teeth completely before sinking down further. It was incredible how hot the heavy flesh felt against his tongue. He rolled it slowly, taking in the way Derek’s dick twitched against the sensation.

 

Derek seemed to be waiting for some kind of signal to start moving, so Stiles clutched at his hip and dragged hip forward.

 

“Fuuuuuuck,” Derek hissed out, once again winding his fingers into Stiles’ hair. He pulled his hips back slowly, letting his dick drag across Stiles’ rolling tongue, before thrusting back in with a quick jerk of motion. Stiles coughed a little in surprise, but pulled Derek’s hips further, leading the man to where he was comfortable. The fox purring in his chest grew louder until he could feel himself purring around Derek.

 

The alpha threw his head back, mewling at the sensation of vibrations surrounding his dick, and something inside of Stiles snapped. His eyes burned amber and a fierce possessive force punched through him. He felt the claws on his left hand, the one gripping Derek’s hip, burst through his fingertips and into Derek’s skin. The alpha howled in delight as blood sprang to the surface of his skin and finally began thrusting in earnest, pumping himself into Stiles’ mouth with almost reckless abandon. Stiles’ eyes watered from the lack of air and the strain on his jaw, but he pulled Derek closer anyway. Every thrust hit the back of his throat until he was choking from pressure. His middle finger was still buried in Derek’s ass, massaging insistently at the swollen gland that sent sparks of pleasure through both of the through their bond. His own erection strained against his jeans, leaking precome into the heavy fabric as his hips made abortive thrusts of their own.

 

Suddenly Derek clenched around Stiles’ finger and stilled his thrusts. Before Stiles could think to question it, hot thick liquid was spilling into his mouth and sliding down his throat. The salty bitterness was completely overshadowed by the rich deep taste of Derek on his tongue. Stiles lapped at the dick in his mouth, slowly bobbing his head up and down it until Derek pulled him away abruptly. Stiles let his finger slip from inside of Derek as the man crumbled to his knees and pulled him into a searing kiss. His tongue dove into Stiles’ mouth, tasting everything it could reach, exploring every crevice as he panted against him.

 

Derek’s hands found their way to Stiles’ swollen cock and practically ripped through the denim of his jeans to get to it. His thick fingers wrapped around it in an instant, jacking him quick and harsh as the other hand slipped behind his waist and kneaded into his firm ass. Stiles panted into Derek’s mouth, hips jerking forward on their own as he pulled the orgasm from him, spilling out over Derek’s hand and crying out against his mouth as the man’s claws dug into his cheek. Derek pulled back enough to lift his hand to his mouth and slowly, sensuously lick every drop of come from his fingers, all while staring directly into Stiles’ eyes.

 

“Fuck, dude,” Stiles whined as his dick twitched helplessly through the aftershock, “I think you’re the one who’s gonna kill me.”

 

Derek hummed in response, sending a sharp thrill through Stiles’ limp, but willing, body. His eyes were still dark with desire, but a quick glance at the clock had him jumping to his feet in a panic.

 

“Shit! My dad’s gonna be home in 20 minutes,” Stiles shrieked, much to Derek’s amusement. “How the fuck did we just waste a half hour? There is no freaking way.”

 

Derek dragged himself up from the floor and draped himself over Stiles’ back, effectively silencing his tirade.

 

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up and I’ll make sure your…dinner gets finished,” he offered innocently. Stiles turned to him with a glare.

 

“Don’t you insult my dinner. This mac and cheese is perfect. I have known the recipe by heart since I was 7. And you will fall to your knees and beg for forgiveness when you try it and realize how wrong you were about it,” he warned ominously. Derek pretended to look chastened as he pushed Stiles towards the stairs.

 

“Fine, I will bow down to your culinary prowess after you get changed into something that doesn’t make it look like I ravaged you in your father’s kitchen,” Derek conceded with a firm slap of Stiles’ ass.

 

Stiles definitely did not squeak in surprise. Most certainly not. But he did stumble up the stairs, tripping over his sagging pants that no longer stayed up without their button or zipper attached.

 

“Do me a favor and light the grill,” Stiles called down the stairs as he rushed into his room. “And leave my macaroni alone!”

 

Derek smiled softly to himself as he dug through the drawers of the kitchen looking for matches.

 

He should have heard the door opening. He should have heard the car pull up before the door was even in question, but Stiles had him completely distracted and almost deliriously happy. Surely it was because of Stiles that Derek didn’t notice the sheriff until he was standing in the kitchen doorway watching him with an appraising look. He forced down the urge to jump at the sudden appearance. It had been a long time since someone had snuck up on him.

 

“I see you decided to wait for me after all,” the sheriff noted absently, eyes still glued to Derek’s face. Derek hoped desperately that his clothes looked better than Stiles’ had, or else he was going to be arrested on the spot. Almost as if on cue, the sheriff gave him a long look up and down. Derek’s heart raced in his chest, fear flooding his system, positive that he was about to be thrown out.

 

“You clean up pretty well,” the sheriff said nonchalantly as he wandered out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

 

It wasn’t what Derek was expecting at all.  His heart was still pounding, but the fear had turned to almost bashful embarrassment. He decided right then that he could not let the sheriff see him blush and rummaged through the drawers even quicker until he found a lighter made a mad dash outside.

 

“Stiles,” the sheriff called out from the top of the stairs. “I hope you’re not forcing him to cook his own dinner after we invited him here.”

 

Stiles fell through his doorway frantically, arms flying out to catch himself on the doorjamb. He schooled his features from shock to pleasant surprise as his father watched him carefully.

 

“Hey, daddy-o,” he attempted casually. “Glad you got home so quick from the, uh, the phone call, I mean the station. Work,” he settled on, shaking himself to settle his rambling mind. “Glad you’re home from work. We waited on dinner. Even though it’s gonna be weird to use the grill with the sun down and everything, but you’re worth it.”

 

The sheriff raised an eyebrow at his son and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

 

“And what exactly did you do while waiting,” the sheriff asked leadingly. “Because I noticed that none of the TVs are on. And Derek looked rather panicked when I walked in, especially with you up here for some reason.”

 

Stiles gawped in disbelief.

 

“I can’t believe you don’t trust me. After all these years…”

 

“Son, it’s because of all these years that I know you are rarely as innocent as you claim to be.” Stiles cringed at the accusation, but knew his father was right to be skeptical.

 

“We were just hanging out, dad. We wanted to wait for you, so we turned off the food and just chilled,” he said with a bat of his long eyelashes. His father didn’t look swayed by the display.

 

“And did that happen while you were ‘chilling’,” his father asked with a pointed look at his neck. Stiles’ hand flew up involuntarily to rub the sensitive skin under his jaw. He hadn’t thought Derek had been there long enough to leave a mark, but apparently he had been horrifically wrong. The sheriff sighed in his general direction and let his hands fall to his sides.

 

“Go finish cooking,” he relented, “I’ll be down once I’m out of this stupid uniform, although I’m considering keeping it on now.”

 

Stiles gave his father an exasperated look, but took the dismissal for what it was and dashed down the hall. He stopped to look in the bathroom mirror for a moment and was surprised to see flawless pale skin. He glared back at the sheriff where he was standing in the hallway with a knowing smirk on his face.

 

“Not as slick as you think you are,” he tossed back with a nod of his head.

 

“Not cool, dad. Not cool.”

 

The sheriff laughed light heartedly and shuffled into his room to change while Stiles bounded down the stairs two at a time and ran right into a wall of muscle as he bolted into the kitchen.

 

“Woah. Where the hell did you come from,” Stiles barked out in surprise as he stumbled backwards. Derek leveled him with an unimpressed look.

 

“Well you see, when a man and woman love each other very much,” the alpha began, voice dripping with sarcasm.

 

“Ha ha, asshole,” Stiles said with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Why are you creeping in my kitchen anyway?”

 

“I was coming in for the steaks,” Derek grumbled unimpressed. He pointed at the marinating steaks on the counter and waited for Stiles to catch up. “I lit the grill, like YOU asked me to,” he grumbled.

 

“Oh. Right. My bad,” Stiles added in lieu of an apology before darting around Derek to grab the steaks. “Well then, lets get those bad boys cooking! We’re gonna need everything we can get to distract my dad tonight.”

 

Derek breathed out a put-upon sigh, but dutifully followed Stiles back outside to the grill.

 

_Like a puppy_ , Stiles thought to himself as he glanced back at his six foot tall shadow. He tried to hide his smile as Derek slid a hand around his hip and nestled into the curve of his neck. His lips brushed gently against Stiles’ ear, breath ghosting across his warm skin.

 

“I am not a puppy,” Derek whispered angrily before pinching Stiles’ hip as hard as he could. Stiles yelped in pain and jumped out of Derek’s reach, arms flailing in self-defense. Derek chuckled and turned back to the grill imperiously.

 

“You are a jerk,” Stiles hissed, rubbing his side in pain. “How do you even know what I was thinking?” Derek turned to face him and raised an eyebrow haughtily.

 

Stiles froze in place under Derek’s scrutinizing look. It suddenly occurred to him that Derek knew him. Like really knew him. The way Scott knew him, or his dad knew him. Only better. He could read Stiles’, could tell what he meant whether he said it or not. Derek actually got him. No one got Stiles. Ever. But Derek somehow did.

 

Derek’s expression shifted as he watched Stiles’ revelation play out across his face. His eyes were soft and knowing as Stiles seemed to forget how to breathe.

 

“You get me too,” he whispered almost reverently as Stiles stared back at him, face open and astonished. He reached out for Stiles’ hand slowly. A spark of warmth lighting up his skin as he latched onto Derek’s hands and pulled him forward into a crushing hug. The bond practically glowed inside of him, his fox purring happily as it danced through his body. Derek’s hands clutched at him, dragging him closer until they were practically pressed together from head to toe.

 

“I can’t believe you’re real,” Stiles whispered into Derek’s shoulder, the revelation still settling in his mind. Derek breathed out a laugh and squeezed Stiles tighter.

 

“And you’ve got me. Forever,” he promised into the boy’s skin. Derek seemed to vibrate with energy as his chest heaved with joy. The feeling settled deep in Stiles’ chest and with a sudden burst of clarity he realized what the energy was; he could feel Derek’s wolf howling with elation inside of him. His fox chirped with delight in tandem and pounced in his chest, aching to frolic with its wolf.

 

Derek pulled back with a laugh.

 

“I think we need to go running soon,” he hinted unnecessarily. Stiles laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

 

“So that wasn’t just me? You could feel it too?” Derek nodded in amusement. “Dude, what the hell? Is that normal?” Derek’s shrug was hardly reassuring, but Stiles was sort of touched by the idea that maybe what he and Derek had was unique, even in the supernatural world.

 

They were both startled out of the moment by the sudden appearance of the sheriff in the back door. Derek blushed guiltily and stepped away from Stiles even though they hadn’t been doing anything wrong. Stiles laughed at his determination to not seem like a creep and pulled him back by the wrist to place a chaste kiss to his cheek. Derek’s blush deepened and his eyes darted between Stiles and the sheriff nervously, but Stiles didn’t miss the pleased grumble that came from Derek’s wolf as he pulled him in. The sheriff watched the exchange with a purposefully blank expression.

 

“Stiles, why don’t you head in and set the table and I’ll help Derek here with the steaks,” he suggested easily, but without much room for dissent. Derek bristled at the idea of being left alone with the sheriff, but Stiles distracted him quickly by turning to plant a sloppy wet kiss on his mouth, right in front of his father. Derek’s mouth fell open in shock as Stiles pulled away with a smile.

 

“Sure thing pops. Be nice,” he warned as he darted back inside, tossing a wink at Derek on the way. The alpha was left standing there in complete disbelief, eyes glued to the spot Stiles had been standing seconds earlier. The sheriff shook him from his trance with a firm hand on his shoulder as he led him back to the grill.

 

“This was your choice, son, remember that,” he reminded him drolly before breaking into a grin. Derek’s disbelief shifted from Stiles’ impromptu PDA to the sheriff’s presumable acceptance. The sheriff looked up at him a little guiltily, eyes not quite able to stay on his face as he shrugged his hands back down to his sides.

 

“I may have seen a bit of your conversation before you noticed I was standing there,” he admitted with a grimace. Derek didn’t know what to think. He didn’t understand how the sheriff kept sneaking up on him. Maybe he smelled too much like Stiles. Or maybe Derek was just too far lost in Stiles to even notice other people anymore. He looked back down at the man, surprised to see him watching him. The sheriff’s expression was set in determination, but his scent was all nerves with a hint of melancholy.

 

“It seems you two truly care about each other. I can see that you love him, in a way that apparently surpasses what I can ever give.”

 

Derek was so tuned into the sheriff’s heartbeat there was no way he could miss the blip. But the sheriff wasn’t lying. In fact, Derek thought he was probably being more honest than he was used to, because with that simple confession, he actually heard the man’s heart break. A small whine started in the back of his throat, a lingering pain of loss and envy at the relationship Stiles and his father shared. The man continued after a moment, heartbeat steady as a rock, scent shifting to something defensive.

 

“But I will warn you that if you ever hurt him,” his eyes flicked up, locking onto Derek’s, filled with promise and love for his son, “you will not live to regret it.”

 

Derek’s breath stopped in his throat. This was not some pretense of bravery or threat; the sheriff was deadly serious. The man held Derek’s gaze firmly, refusing to look away or even blink, silently challenging him to argue or lash out without even knowing that his actions were the height of disrespect to an alpha. But Derek’s wolf felt no desire to teach the man a lesson or put him in his place. In fact, his wolf was cowered into a ball, shaking with fear. (Though that was less from the thought of incurring the sheriff’s rage, and more at the thought of hurting its mate.) Either way, Derek knew he would never willingly force the sheriff to enforce his threat. But if he ever did, he needed the sheriff to be able to follow through.

 

“Sir,” Derek began, squaring his shoulders and forcing his voice to stay even, “I will never be able to guarantee that Stiles will be safe with me. I can never guarantee that I won’t upset him or hurt him in some way without meaning to. But I will promise you that his safety and happiness will be my first and foremost focus for the rest of our lives.” The sheriff raised an eyebrow at that, clearly still unsure of the validity of their relationship on a short-term basis, let alone for the long haul. Derek wasn’t thrown; he knew that Stiles and he were in it for life. He ignored the gesture and continued. “However, if I ever do harm him in any way, I want you to use this.”

 

Derek reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden case carved with an intricate triskele reminiscent of the ink on his back. The sheriff accepted the box nervously with a curious glance at Derek’s stoic face. He opened the box to reveal a dried yellow flower on top of a tiny glass vial filled with a thick yellow liquid. His expression turned from curious to confused.

 

“It’s a rare form of wolfsbane,” Derek explained in a stilted voice. He wanted the sheriff to know that he trusted him, that he respected him and his son and that he wanted him to have the power to protect him in the most severe way if need be. But it still terrified him. The thought of having to be forcibly removed from Stiles’ life, for his own protection, was agonizing to even consider. He swallowed down the bile that had been working its way up his throat before continuing.

 

“It’s poisonous to humans, but deadly to wolves. This particular strand is the harshest. It will incapacitate me immediately. And it will kill me, but it will be slow and immeasurably painful. I’ve been told I would be able to feel every single blood cell in my body burn up as this attacked it. I would live long enough to feel every one of my organs shut down before swelling until they burst inside of me. I would bleed out internally over a few days while every cell in my body felt like it was on fire, until my mind either snaps from the pain, or dissolves from the poison.”

 

The sheriff stared at him, mouth open in a horrified grimace. Derek ignored it once more and continued.

 

“I want you to have this. If I ever hurt him, I want you to be able to kill me in the most agonizing way I could find. I want to feel every single part of my body burned away in horrifically slow motion,” Derek concluded. “I want to feel every cell in my body turn against me, because that is the only thing that could possibly come close to the pain of hurting Stiles.”

 

The sheriff’s eyes dropped back to the box, horror shifting to something more resolute. He nodded slowly, almost to himself before looking back up at Derek.

 

“Thank you. I know you won’t ever intentionally hurt him. And right now I really hope you don’t because I honestly don’t think I could live with myself if I ever had to use this,” he shook the box for emphasis, “but I understand what you’re giving me here and I appreciate it.” Derek didn’t know how to respond. He had worked out the speech, but had never figured out what the sheriff’s possible reactions might be. In the end he settled on nodding once and turning back to the grill to save the steaks that had been woefully neglected since Stiles had brought them out. The sheriff fell into position next to him, eyeing the meat eagerly as Derek tossed it onto the grill.

 

“Keep them blue,” he encouraged conspiratorially as Derek shifted them over the coals. “It’ll drive Stiles nuts.”

 

Derek couldn’t help the anxious chuckle that escaped as they eased into a less severe topic of conversation.

 

“You know, I think he really likes you,” the sheriff said after a few moments of companionable silence. Derek quirked an eyebrow at him in question. “He made his mom’s mac and cheese. It’s his favorite recipe of hers, but we haven’t had it in years. He always said no one could make it like she did. But apparently you’re worth trying for.”

 

Derek turned back to the grill, heat burning up his face that had nothing to do with the coals in front of him. He hadn’t realizes just how special this dinner was going to be. Stiles would definitely be getting rave reviews, whether he liked the meal or not. He swore to himself then and there to make his mom’s famous strawberry cake for Stiles’ birthday. The sheriff patted him on the back and turned to head inside.

 

“I’m going to go help him set the table. It’s been so long since we used it, I doubt he even knows how. You can probably pull those off in another minute,” he instructed subconsciously, not realizing that Derek’s nose was a far better gauge for cooking meat than any tricks the sheriff might know.

 

\--

 

The dinner went smoothly after that. There were no tense conversations or thinly veiled threats, no conflict of any sort really. It was almost bizarre how easily the three of them got along without really trying. Stiles knew his father could get along with anybody, but he still expected some sort of argument or lecture, or at least a couple snarky comments about age differences and illegal activities. But his dad was pleasant, cordial even. And Derek actually spoke, in full sentences. They talked about baseball and lacrosse and basketball and college, whether Derek had gone or intended to, where Stiles was looking, potential majors, etc. Over dessert they discussed favorite movies, which earned Derek a pleased smile from the sheriff when he confessed he was more of a Star Trek fan than Star Wars. It had been a heated debate in the Stilinski house for years. Stiles was a die-hard Star Wars fan, but his father was a closeted Trekkie. It wasn’t a serious debate, more for fun than anything, but Stiles knew his father would love having someone else on his side when it next came up.

 

Once dessert was cleared up, conversation turned to the pack. Stiles expected Derek to clam up since he was still rather self-conscious about his leadership. And the sheriff, while family to Stiles, wasn’t really part of the pack. However Derek surprised him by opening up, almost enthusiastically so. Over the course of a couple cups of coffee, Derek had brought the sheriff up to speed about pack dynamics and how the alpha can, but doesn’t have to, control the betas. Stiles was eager to hear about the role of the alpha’s mate, which it turned out wasn’t only a second-in-a-command type situation, but also a pack liaison type position. The sheriff had laughed for a full minute when he realized Stiles could be required to be a mediator at some point.

 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Don’t get me wrong, I love you, Stiles, but you do have a tendency to rub people the wrong way…especially people who confront you,” the sheriff had choked out between his laughter. Derek’s shy smile was the only thing that kept Stiles from being truly offended.

 

The evening ended pleasantly. Derek extended the sheriff an invitation to join in on the next pack meet-up, which was planned to be a massive barbeque at the McCall house, and the sheriff invited Derek to dinner every Friday for the foreseeable future.

 

“Alright boys, I think I’m going to call it a night,” the sheriff announced around 11. “Thank you for being patient with me. I can see what you two have is something special.” He made an abortive move to reach for them, but decided better of it. “Don’t stay up too late.”

 

With that, he excused himself to his room and left Derek and Stiles at the table.

 

“Well,” Stiles exhaled, “that went entirely differently than I expected.”

 

“I think he’s coming around,” Derek added as he stood to put the coffee cups in the sink.

 

“What’s not to like,” Stiles crooned. He leaned back in his chair, kicking it up onto two legs so he could reach out and smack Derek’s butt. In a flash of motion, Derek had Stiles pulled out of his chair and backed up against the counter, bracketed by his arms. His crimson eyes locked onto Stiles’, whose eyes flared amber in response, before leaning in and letting his lips hover over his mouth.

 

“You’re not so bad yourself, you know,” he sighed against Stiles’ open, welcoming lips. Stiles smirked and pushed forward, gently pressing his lips into Derek’s, almost as if asking for permission, as if he still wasn’t sure he was allowed. Derek leaned in, pressing himself fully against Stiles’ body as he wrapped his arms around his waist. There was a twitch of eagerness from his dick, but mainly he basked in the ecstatic happiness that curled through his body. His wolf purred in contentment, wrapping around the place deep in his gut where his bond burned the strongest. He swore he could feel Stiles’ fox curling up beside it, breathing in time and purring sleepily.

 

Stiles’ breath ghosted across his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. He inhaled deep, swallowing down the taste of Stiles’ scent, not even minding the burnt edge it carried. Actually, he found that he was starting to really like the burnt part. It was the part that brought them together.

 

Derek brushed his lips over Stiles’, delighting in the soft whine that escaped them. Stiles’ carelessly propped his arms over Derek’s shoulders, letting his long fingers twine into the alpha’s hair, scratching ever so lightly the way Derek refused to admit he loved. The alpha purred against him, pulling a giggle from Stiles’ lips.

 

“You know, I’ve heard your wolf purr a dozen times, but I think that’s the first time I’ve heard Derek do it,” he whispered against Derek’s mouth. Derek just purred louder, nuzzling into Stiles’ neck, tickling the sensitive skin with his beard. He stopped abruptly, settling his mouth against the juncture or Stiles’ neck and shoulder.

 

“You know,” he started quietly, still keeping his face nestled against Stiles’ neck, “For the first time in as long as I can remember, I think I’m actually happy.”

 

Stiles untangled his hands from Derek’s hair and repositioned them against the sides of Derek’s face. He gently tilted the alpha’s face up to look him in the eye, before placing a scorching kiss against his mouth. His lips worked furiously against Derek’s, his tongue darting out to lick at the seam of the alpha’s mouth before sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth. Derek’s mouth fell open to him, inviting him in until they were completely lost in each other.

 

Stiles pulled back, lips swollen, eyes glazed over, lungs screaming for air. Derek looked equally wrecked. His hair was sticking up in every direction, lips flushed and abused. It took a moment for his eyes to focus back onto Stiles’, but once they did, Stiles was struck breathless at the pure adoration he saw in them. He couldn’t fight the smile that spread across his face, mirrored by Derek’s in an instant.

 

“I’m happy too,” he confessed. “Insanely, ridiculously, unbelievably happy.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. I'm totally gonna add an epilogue, but I didn't want you to wait around eagerly for it because I have no idea when that's gonna happen. Hopefully around Christmas/New Year, but who knows. As much as I wanted to conclude this story, I don't want to leave it just yet. So yeah, that'll be coming soon-ish if you want to stick around, but otherwise thanks for sticking around so long!!!
> 
> Feel free to find me on tumblr! (howlinattheimpala.tumblr.com ... I don't know how to do links in end notes...)


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